


It Was Him All Along

by Pleasure_Seeker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Jealousy, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pleasure_Seeker/pseuds/Pleasure_Seeker
Summary: After Harry and Draco get into an altercation on the train on the way to Hogwarts, Headmistress McGonagall decides that our boys are finally going to bury the hatchet over the course of two months in weekly detentions. They develop a surprising fondness for one another, but things are always a bit more complicated than that when it comes to these two.   (Title subject to change.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 24
Kudos: 203





	1. Moving Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I am making myself post the first chapter of this in the hopes that it will finally prompt me to finish the series. I have been working on it in fits and starts since *checks Google docs* September 11, 2016. I am someone who sabotages myself by getting new story ideas even when I'm in the middle of something else so I am not kidding when I say that I have 13 other Drarry WIPs aside from this series. This one in particular is currently 17 chapters long but I anticipate that I'll condense that down to 16 for the final version. I have the majority of this already written and just need to finish and flesh out a few things. I hope that if you like this you'll stick around to see it through. Thanks for stopping by!

Headmaster of Hogwarts Minerva McGonagall sat behind her desk with fingers interlaced, her mouth pinched and her eyebrows knit together. The expression of deep disapproval was painfully familiar to the two students sitting across from her. The shorter and darker of the two boys looked up nervously, his eyes landing on the newest and largest painting mounted on the wall, behind McGonagall’s desk. Albus Dumbledore winked down at him from the comfort of his portrait, half moon spectacles glinting merrily.

“You two,” she began, her voice stern even as her expression softened. In years past she would have been more angry and more shrill, but after all that had happened, the travesty the three of them had lived through, this was a welcome change. “You two just cannot keep clear of each other, can you? I would imagine after all your...history, you could put this feud behind you. You’re eighth years after all, and already prominent young wizards. You are both destined for the Ministry, I’m sure, where it will be impossible to avoid one another. I think it’s time you two got along.”

Draco Malfoy’s blonde head swiveled to his left, his chilly gaze assessing Potter with a derisive snort. 

“Not likely,” he muttered. A fresh trickle of blood dribbled from his nose over his lips. Harry tried to hide his smug grin as McGonagall retrieved a fresh handkerchief from a drawer and handed it to Malfoy. The Slytherin took it between slender fingers and gingerly pressed it to his face to absorb the blood. He refused to give the Gryffindor the satisfaction of even a glance.

“That you two got into a brawl before you even left the train does not bode well for the rest of the term. It sets a terrible example for the younger students and reflects poorly on your respective houses. Frankly, I’ve had enough.” McGonagall stared down her nose at Harry in particular, though she spared some of her frostiness for Malfoy to be sure. She expected a much higher level of maturity from the savior of the magical world and he knew it. 

The boys made brief, almost involuntary eye contact with one another and looked away sheepishly. They both had to admit that she was right. After everything that they had endured- Harry’s rescue of Draco from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco’s baffling choice to protect Harry’s identity at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa’s lie to save them both in the Forbidden Forest- their fiery hatred had ebbed away, replaced by a dull but sturdy mistrust. They certainly weren’t friends but the last year had taught them what it meant to really have a sworn enemy and enemies they were not.

All the rotten things they’d done to each other- Malfoy knew he was guilty of the most heinous of them- seemed trivial in the wake of the harrowing battle they’d been forced to fight. 

In another lifetime, Malfoy wondered if they could’ve been friends. He’d certainly tried, all those years ago, holding his hand out proudly only to have Harry rebuff him. Sure, he’d been a pompous arse, but he didn’t know that at the time. The searing pain of that public embarrassment had likely sparked their incendiary rivalry. Malfoy had been punishing Harry for that rejection ever since.

“I’m sorry, Professor. It won’t happen again,” Harry said, hoping to convey a satisfactory level of contrition. He didn’t intend to revisit the incident but hitting Malfoy _had_ felt good. 

“It certainly won’t. It is my intention to end this rivalry for good before the year is through. Starting next week you will serve two months of detention together under the supervision of our caretaker, Mr. Filch, with whom you should be well acquainted.” She spoke with an air of finality and Harry knew better than to challenge her, but he couldn’t stop the groan that spilled out of him.

“Two months? Are you sure that’s necessary?” Malfoy croaked. Harry would have laughed at the blonde's misfortune if they weren’t sharing it. “Don’t they say that familiarity breeds contempt?”

“Mr. Malfoy, has it occurred to you that you are not in a position to bargain with me?” Her voice and gaze were icy and the Slytherin boy quelled beneath her stare. “You will serve detention together over the course of the next eight weeks and you will resolve your differences.” Her tone brooked no argument. 

The boys were dismissed to join the other students in the Great Hall for the end of dinner. They slunk silently out of the office and made the awkward trip together. Harry was glad he wasn’t going to miss the feast entirely, but he was a bit sad to have missed the Sorting. It was a nice tradition, something he looked forward to at the beginning of each year, but especially after the war. He could remember the devastation the final battle had wrought on parts of the castle and was thankful the school had survived for him to return to at all.

“We’ve missed the Sorting,” Harry said, mostly to break the ice.

“That’s right. Bit of a shame, really. I like to watch,” Malfoy said, surprisingly pleasantly. 

“I do, too. All the little first years are so awestruck,” Harry laughed. “It’s nice to see.”

“Yes, well,” Malfoy sniffed. He felt things were suddenly too convivial. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager, even if Potter did have a winsome smile. “I’d have liked to see who the new Slytherins are. Make sure they pass muster.”

“The best of the bunch went to Gryffindor, I’m sure,” Harry replied wryly. They paused outside of the heavy doors, preparing for their delayed entrance that was sure to spark conversation. They both took a steadying breath and shared a nervous smile, something they had never had reason to do before. Finally, Harry opened the door and ushered Malfoy through. 

The hall was resplendent, as usual, filled with banners in the house colors and the warm, enticing aroma of delicious food. The enchanted sky above their heads was inky blue and laced with stars. The sight of it made Harry’s chest swell with warmth. It was so good to be back. 

That at least half of the students were unabashedly staring and whispering to each other behind their hands was not lost on either boy.  _ Make nice,  _ Draco told himself. He turned toward Harry, cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. Harry was mildly startled, but managed to smooth his expression and take Malfoy’s hand in his own to shake. It was just a bit softer than his and pleasantly cool. 

“Right then,” Malfoy said, when the shaking had gone on a moment too long. The unusual contact with the other boy’s lightly calloused hand was making his stomach feel funny. “I’ll see you ‘round.”

“You will.” Harry held his eyes for a beat before turning toward the Gryffindor table. Unnerved by this strange truce they’d struck, Malfoy slid distractedly into the spot Blaise and Pansy had saved for him.

“What was that about?” Ron asked around a mouthful of roast potatoes, one ginger eyebrow cocked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shake hands with Malfoy in my life.”

“Don’t choke, Ron,” Hermione chastised with a slight grimace. She turned to Harry, a keen interest alight in her eyes.

“We’re on strict orders from Professor McGonagall to ‘put aside our differences’,” Harry told them, loading up his plate. Ron snorted derisively. “We’ve got two months of detention together so we’d better get used to one another.”

“Oh, Harry, that’s awful!” Hermione exclaimed. “You’re bound to fall behind on your homework.”

“Or be cursed by Malfoy,” Ron protested, and Harry couldn’t help laughing. The whole scenario was so ridiculous that it hadn’t even sunk in. Harry had served detentions before. He couldn’t imagine a few hours toiling alongside Malfoy could be any worse than what Umbridge had put him through. In fact, the little flip flop his stomach did when he thought about spending his evenings with Malfoy made him wonder if he wasn’t a bit excited. He did like a challenge.

“It’ll be alright,” he replied, only half certain. 

Ron and Hermione filled him in on what he’d missed. They pointed out a few of the first years who’d joined the Gryffindors, as if their beaming faces and short statures weren’t enough to identify them. Slughorn, who had made opening remarks in McGonagall’s stead, had apparently referred to the students who’d returned for an eighth year as the Veteran Class. It was a strange word to hear, but it was accurate. Many of them had fought and lived through the battle not so many months ago. It would take some getting used to. The common room situation, which had been briefly addressed in their school letters, was explained further.

First through seventh years would live in their respective house dormitories as usual. The overflow group from the returning veteran class would be living together, in a part of the castle that had been repurposed to house them. Together, the returning students from the various houses made up about one house worth in numbers. Living and sleeping would be more comfortable this way, they were assured. Any points earned or lost by individuals would still be reflected in their house tallies.

Malfoy realized what this meant. All the students in his year would be sharing space, mixing as they studied and slept. He’d have to rub elbows with the  _ Hufflepuffs  _ for Merlin’s sake. His stomach waffled as he considered that he might be sharing a dormitory and bathroom with Potter. That made him more nervous than anything else. He would have nowhere to retreat to now.

He’d come up with the Slytherin boys: he was used to showering near them on occasion, when he didn’t get to the showers before everyone else had woken. They knew that he liked to be left in peace while he carried out his meticulous grooming. They hardly ever snuck a peek at him anymore, and carefully avoided a confrontation if they noticed him eyeing them. It was a delicate balance cultivated over seven years. Now he would be surrounded by a crop of new people whose bodies and habits he would have to familiarize himself with. 

He might have to shower near Potter. The thought excited him far more than it should have. He could feel the burn of shame deep in his belly, a familiar companion.

Harry felt the peculiar sensation of being watched periodically throughout the remainder of dinner and dessert. He thought it might be Professor McGonagall eyeing him from her perch at the faculty table, but when he looked up she was engaged in discussion with Professor Binns. Harry spooned a bit of treacle tart into his mouth as he casually cast his eyes about the room. When he passed over the Slytherin table, he caught Malfoy out. His silver gray eyes were the ones that had been locked on Harry. When the other boy realized that Potter had noticed him, he blanched and ducked his head. 

_ Could you be more brazen? Stop being weird,  _ Malfoy told himself. Still, when the plates were cleared a few moments later and the students stood and filtered out of the hall, he couldn’t stop himself from picking Harry out of the crowd. 

Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm as they exited, pulling him out of the stream of students. She led him to a corner just next to the doors.

“What were you two even fighting about?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, hoping not to be overheard by the students passing them.

“I don’t even remember. He was being a wanker, obviously trying to provoke me…” Harry gingerly probed his swollen lip with his fingertips. “He just makes me insane. I can’t control myself when it comes to Malfoy.”

_ That’s for sure,  _ she thought to herself as the pale blonde in question strode out of the doors behind Harry. She thought she saw the corner of his mouth quirk up and wondered if he’d overheard them. He had always loved to get a rise out of Harry.

“You don’t have to fight anymore, Harry. The war’s over.” She reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Maybe you and Malfoy can turn things around this year.”

“That’s exactly what McGonagall said,” he grumbled. Hermione and McGonagall were two of the smartest witches he knew. Perhaps they had a fair point. He wasn’t keen on being humiliated by Malfoy’s rejection but he knew he at least had to try. “We’ll see.”

When they’d gone up to the eighth year common room, Harry begged off immediately and went up to the empty bedroom. He wanted to savor his return to Hogwarts in private for a moment, before the room was flooded with boisterous voices. Everything had moved so fast since he’d arrived at the castle.

He slowly readied himself for bed, his mind eventually- inevitably- drifting to the notorious Slytherin with whom he shared a disciplinary fate. He knew that the other students were already gossiping about it, speculating about what would happen. He knew that they probably expected more fighting, perhaps even a duel. If they’d heard the conversation that had taken place in the headmistress’s office they’d have been sorely disappointed. The truth was that Harry was more than ready to bury the hatchet.

After the battle had ended Harry had spent a lot of time alone at Grimmauld Place, mourning the loss of many friends and processing the arduous journey of the last year. He’d picked apart details that he’d never expected to remember. As it happened, his memory had served him well. The Wizengamot convened every day that summer to preside over the myriad trials that had been set as a result of the war. Harry, having been a central figure of the final battle and having known more than most thanks to his mental link with Voldemort and his close relationship with Dumbledore, had been summoned as a witness to many of them. 

It was no secret that Harry disliked Malfoy but he wasn’t going to lie, especially not if it meant sending Malfoy to Azkaban. Harry had told the absolute truth, sitting tall in the straight backed chairs of the cool, dreary court chambers. If it had ultimately been his testimony that had cleared the younger Malfoy’s name, Harry supposed that was alright with him. After all, aside from being an absolute shit, there wasn’t much Harry could really think of to blame him for. 

After testifying on behalf of Malfoy’s innocence in the death of Vincent Crabbe, testifying that he had not been the one to cast the killing curse against Dumbledore in the clock tower, testifying that Narcissa had helped Harry defeat Voldemort by lying for him in the Forbidden Forest, Harry had realized that Malfoy had had about as much choice in his role as Harry had in his. He had done nasty things and behaved like a coward at times, but Harry recognized that Malfoy had been terrified of and beholden to Voldemort in a way Harry would never understand. 

Voldemort had made plans for Draco, plans that would succeed or result in Draco’s death. Sharing a home with Voldemort and living under his thumb would have been intolerable. To defy him in any way would be a death sentence, not just for Draco but for his family as well. Beyond that, Malfoy had always admired his father, done as he was told. How could he have seen the path that Lucius was setting him on until it was too late? After all, Harry had never really had a family until the Weasleys came along. He could never imagine forsaking them. How could he expect Malfoy, raised on cruelty, to leave that life when it was all he had ever known? 

It was one of many things Harry had turned over in his mind on the nights that sleep eluded him- and there had been many of those. Harry’s hatred of Malfoy had burned away months ago. In a strange way, Harry could almost empathize with the other boy, could see how he’d behaved much like an animal backed into a corner might. 

He pulled a book from his trunk and dropped it onto the bed, climbing in after it. It was early yet but the peace and quiet was just what he wanted. His eyes rested thoughtfully on Malfoy’s empty bed for a moment before he pulled the drapes shut on his four poster. He might not trust Malfoy now, or ever, but he was fairly certain he could forgive him.

-

“I’d switch with you if I could,” Pansy offered mirthfully from the corner she shared with Malfoy and Blaise Zabini in the new common room. “He may be a goody two shoes but he’s lovely to look at.”

“You slag,” Blaise teased. Malfoy eyed the other students in the room warily, hoping they weren’t being overheard. He wasn’t used to the acoustics in the new room yet, though there was more sound absorbing cushy furniture here than in the dungeons and the fire crackled loudly in the hearth. It was an altogether more welcoming space than he was used to. Dryer, too. 

“I’ll be sure to give Potter your regards,” he said coolly, turning back to his friends.

“Please do. I can give that Ginny a run for her money,” Pansy bragged, tossing her glossy raven hair over one shoulder and pouting. Draco couldn’t help laughing at Pansy’s exaggerated- and warranted- vanity. He couldn’t deny that she’d grown into her looks over the last few years. She was probably the most beautiful Slytherin girl in their year, but a Slytherin nonetheless. That Potter had never considered her in that way, Draco was almost certain. 

“What’s the world coming to? You befriending Potter and Pansy jonesing for a ride on his broom,” Blaise did his best to look scandalized, making Pansy dissolve into a fit of giggles. Even Draco smirked. It was crazy, wasn’t it?

Hours later Draco sat alone in the common room, his eyes beginning to itch with tiredness as he stared into the waning flames. He knew he ought to join the other boys in their dormitory, but he had avoided the room all night. He would be tired for classes the next day but he had wanted to wait a bit longer to be sure that he could sneak into bed unobserved. He recognized the churn of anxiety in his gut as he turned the same thoughts over in his head.  _ What if I’m next to Potter? What if he sees me undress? What if I see  _ him _ undress? I’ll have to eventually. Oh god, what if I get an erection? _

He knew that these things weren’t worth the stress he was creating for himself. They’d all been sharing rooms with other boys for ages and anything Harry might see was sure to be nothing new. He also knew, from past experience, that the only way out was through. He stood with a jaw cracking yawn and began to climb the stairs. 

He was relieved to find most of the boys asleep already, the dormitory lit only by soft moonglow through the leaded windows. Each of the four beds against the opposite wall was made with linens in the occupant’s house colors, resulting in a cheery if mismatched row of four posters. He spotted his own bed, the only one empty and unruffled, his trunk waiting at the foot. To the right, Blaise slumbered quietly on his back. It looked like Seamus Finnigan was on the left but in the dim light he couldn’t be entirely certain. At the end of the row, next to the door that led to the shared bathroom, the drawn curtains of the last bed glowed scarlet. Draco didn’t need to read the letters stenciled on the side of the trunk to know who it was that was still awake and, from the looks of it, reading by wand light. 

He retrieved his pajamas as quietly as possible from his trunk. He removed his shoes and trousers and slid on the seersucker sleep bottoms, settling the waistband around his trim hips. He carefully unbuttoned his shirt and cuffs and laid it aside, tugging a well worn tshirt over his head. He made his way into the bathroom as quietly as possible, but he thought he heard the rustling of curtains as he passed Potter’s bed. He relieved himself, feeling a bit of the worry fading away as drowsiness overcame him. The first night in the new dorms was nearly behind him. He washed his hands and brushed his teeth quickly and tip toed back to his bed. The light in Harry’s bed had been extinguished but the curtains parted ever so slightly as Malfoy slipped under his covers.

“Night, Malfoy,” Harry mumbled sleepily. Malfoy’s body went rigid with surprise, unaccustomed to the husky sound of Potter’s drowsy voice in the dark. He turned on his side, facing the end of the row where the other boy slept.

“Good night, Potter,” he called softly, using his wand to draw the curtains around him before stashing it under his pillow.  _ Sweet dreams. _


	2. The First Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin, basically. The returning students begin to settle in for the year ahead. Harry and Draco meet for the first of their weekly detentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post two chapters to start since the ones in the beginning are pretty short and just lay the foundation. As mentioned previously, I have most of this story outlined and written already. I'm hoping to upload one chapter a week to keep myself on track with finishing up the bits and pieces. We'll see how that goes!

The first week back at Hogwarts had been strange, painful and wonderful all at once, whizzing by the eighth years who were slowly falling back into old routines and establishing new ones. Draco’s first morning had been the hardest. At breakfast he’d seen his own haunted face staring miserably back at him from beneath the Daily Prophet’s headline: Death Eater Returns To Scene Of Battle. He wondered, not for the first time, what he’d been thinking when he decided to return to Hogwarts. He felt a pervasive unease with each pair of eyes that ghosted over him, a dread that he tried to keep off his face.

Malfoy supposed he ought to look on the bright side. There was now at least one person who had been expressly forbidden from hexing or pummeling him within an inch of his life. It was especially fortuitous that that person happened to hold significant sway in the wizarding world. He wasn’t about to run to Potter for protection- he’d rather eat a slug- but he could rest a little easier knowing his former rival wouldn’t be among the students who had it out for him.

Harry found himself feeling listless, uneasy. He’d longed to be back at Hogwarts and was happy to have returned but he’d been foolish to think that it would feel normal. So much had changed since the first day he’d stepped foot in the castle. He’d experienced things he never could have imagined, including harrowing loss. So many people were gone. He could feel their absence in quiet corridors, in the coldness of the stone beneath his fingertips.

Now that the battle had been won, Harry was struggling to find his purpose in life, his place. Sometimes he felt untethered. Some people might feel liberated as they looked out upon a vast future full of possibilities but Harry felt weary, anxious. He knew the time would come soon enough for him to decide what to do with his life but for the time being he’d rather not think about it. He wanted to have fun, to rediscover the things that made life worth participating in. He wanted a  _ distraction _ . Malfoy had always fit that bill.

-

That fact that Tuesday, the day of their first detention, had come upon them so suddenly should not have been a surprise to either Harry or Draco. They’d both known that it would be coming up, but nerves or dread seemed to blot it out. 

It was just before dinner when Harry, Ron and Hermione ambled into the common room, ravenous and looking to dump their books. Harry shrugged off his robes, revealing worn jeans and a moss green t shirt that gripped at the muscles of his arms. He considered running to his trunk for a jumper. He knew he was strong and that it showed, something most boys his age would be proud of. He felt a bit self conscious, so accustomed to wearing comically oversized clothes as a byproduct of his time at the Dursleys. Ginny insisted that wearing shirts his size suited him, made him look ‘hunky’. 

As if summoned, his girlfriend seemed to materialize, auburn hair catching his eye and signaling her arrival in the common room. Ron or Hermione must have shown her where the eighth years were living, because he hadn’t. 

Ron and Hermione quietly took their leave as Ginny sidled up to him, curling an arm around his hips and stepping up on tiptoe to kiss him. Harry dutifully dipped his head to meet her mouth with his, their lips briefly brushing together. As they separated, she let one hand come to rest on his chest.

“You know I love this shirt,” she purred, curving her fingers so she could gently scratch her nails down his abdomen. He squirmed infinitesimally beneath her touch, vaguely aroused but also mortified at what he considered a rather public display of intimacy.

“You’re feeling saucy, aren’t you?” Harry asked, aiming for coy and landing a little closer to horrified. He would have to get better at that, he supposed. He hadn’t spent much time being a proper boyfriend to her, given that he’d been in hiding for months before the war and had been tied up at the Ministry for weeks afterward. When he tried to be flirtatious, it always came out wrong. Ginny seemed undeterred, regardless.

“Want to meet me after dinner?” She asked, looking at up at him through her lashes. She curled her hand around his bicep and squeezed. “To study, of course.” The meaning beneath her words was clear even to nearsighted Harry. He was torn. He wanted an early night, but he also wanted to get off. Maybe they could skip some of the lengthy discussion combing over every detail of each of their respective days, a debriefing Ginny seemed quite fond of. It wasn’t likely. She seemed to think it helped them  _ bond.  _

Mercifully, Harry watched his excuse saunter down the stairs, his pale blonde head swiveling around the room warily, like a wounded animal. When his eyes landed on their embrace and Ginny’s possessive grip on his arm, he let his distaste show on his face. Harry ignored that for the time being.

“I’ve just remembered. I’ve got detention tonight,” he told her, shrugging. Her eyes followed his across the room to where Malfoy now stood, facing the fire. 

“With  _ him _ .” Her words were laced with a contempt that Harry simply did not feel for the Slytherin boy. Before their return to Hogwarts, Harry hadn’t realized just how much of the animosity between them had fizzled out since the end of the war. Sure, he was still a smug, privileged git with connections to some awful people, but he had been tried by the Wizengamot and acquitted of any war crimes. Harry himself had testified on his behalf, after all.

He could be a complete dick, but even that was not such an issue now that his father was in Azkaban and he was trying to lay low. There was the punching on the train incident, but Harry maintained that it had been a fair fight. Ginny had simply never liked him, and probably never would. 

“Sorry, Gin. Nothing I can do,” he apologized, subtly extracting himself from her embrace. He scooped up his robes and book bag, intending to drop them off in his room. His eyes trailed the other boy as he slunk out of the common room, furtive as a shadow. “We’ll sit together at dinner. I’m starved.”

-

Malfoy felt as though he hadn’t even been present at dinner. He’d made his way down to the Great Hall, eaten and presumably spoken on autopilot. His mind was focused on his detention with Potter after dinner, his stomach a swirl of anxiety. He had no clue what nonsense task Filch would assign them, or how long they would be required to do it. He was going in blind, a circumstance no Malfoy ever like to find themselves in.

He had decided that morning to give a friendship with Potter an honest go, but he had his reservations. Would Harry accept his olive branch or would he make an utter fool of himself? Malfoys did not stick their necks out for anyone. 

Life would be so much easier with Harry Potter as one less enemy. The Golden Boy held a lot of sway. If he could learn to like and trust Draco, it would have a tremendous positive effect on public opinion, both in and out of Hogwarts. With his father out of sight and out of mind in Azkaban- where Draco readily acknowledged he belonged- he could begin the work of rebuilding the family name. 

His nerves about the situation had kept Potter at the front of his mind since yesterday, even in sleep. He’d dreamt of their handshake, the nervous smile just outside the doors of the Great Hall, the deep green twinkle of his eyes. It wasn’t any potential attraction to Potter that made his stomach go all fluttery, it was the magnitude of the opportunity that was being presented to him.  _ Yes,  _ he’d decided.  _ That’s what this is.  _ He was getting an incredible second chance. A friendship with Potter would be the salvation of his reputation. You could take the boy out of Slytherin…

He tried not to let his eyes linger on Potter too often or for too long. He was just eager to get this first detention out of the way. That was what he repeatedly told himself as the pudding plates vanished from the table. He was well practiced in the art of concealing his emotions, but he’d yet to master the ability to suppress them entirely. He maintained a perfectly passive expression while his stomach churned. 

When dinner finally ended, Malfoy noticed Potter weaving his way through the crowd, presumably to join him. He raised a hand in a weak greeting as he approached. Malfoy nodded at him. Their proximity to one another earned them curious stares from passing students but Malfoy chose to ignore them. It was his default these days.

“Shall we?” he asked, leading them away from the other students and in the direction of the trophy room where they’d been instructed to meet Filch. 

“I suppose so,” Harry laughed nervously. Malfoy noted it as one of the weird things he seemed to do sometimes, showing his hand in that annoyingly endearing way. He’d never been the stoic type.

They made the short trip in an uneasy silence, the sounds of the students dispersing from the Great Hall fading behind them. They each considered striking up a conversation but weren’t sure how to start. They found Filch waiting outside of the room that housed the school’s myriad trophies, plaques, platters and goblets to commemorate bygone achievements. The stooped and grizzled caretaker eyed the two students with deep disapproval, beady eyes glinting in his drooping, weathered face. It was a small comfort to Harry that regardless of his heroics and feats of bravery, Filch would always treat him the same as he would any other Hogwarts student: as a complete and utter nuisance.

“You’ll be polishing tonight. Without magic, of course,” the caretaker said with a sadistic grin. He hitched his thumb over his shoulder and the boys looked at one another before reluctantly entering the room. Harry recalled a detention he’d served in here once before and groaned. That had obviously been the last time any of these trophies had seen a rag. Malfoy’s eyes widened when he realized how many there were. 

“Don’t try and cut any corners, either. You’ll only be finished when I’m satisfied. Don’t care if it takes all year…” Filch grumbled as he started off down the hallway. Harry didn’t bother to remind him that they’d only been assigned two months’ worth of detentions. 

“Merlin’s beard...that’s a shit ton of silver,” Malfoy muttered. The comment caught Harry off guard and he laughed. With a simple  _ Alohamora  _ he unlocked the case and selected a few items, piling them in his arms and ferrying them over to the table where they were meant to work. He turned back to see Malfoy sliding out a heavy tray wider than his shoulders.

“You won’t be able to finish that tonight, you know. Look at how filthy it is. Your arm will give out,” Harry said. 

“Don’t doubt my stamina, Potter. I could go on all night,” Malfoy huffed haughtily. He only realized what he’d said when Harry snorted behind his hand. The Slytherin tried to will his flush away.  _ Well done, you bloody idiot. _

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry replied coolly when he’d quieted himself. 

They sat down to the thoughtless and thankless task of polishing after that, figuring that they might as well get started if they ever wanted to make any headway. Malfoy wondered what other ideas Filch had for them, supposing they ever finished with the trophy room.  _ Probably cleaning toilets, if he had his way,  _ Malfoy thought with a sneer. He couldn’t make them do that, could he? He certainly hoped not, attacking the platter’s scalloped edges with renewed vigor.

Eventually, as Draco knew he would, Harry spoke up. He shoved his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving his work.

“So, you settled back in alright?”

“You sleep 10 feet away, Potter. Surely even your myopic eyes could surmise that I’ve settled in fine,” Malfoy replied snappily.

“I can see you’re moved in, yes. I meant more in terms of…” Harry frowned, as if he’d thought better of following this line of inquiry at all. “Nevermind.” He returned to his halfhearted polishing, looking deflated. 

Malfoy felt a pang of guilt in his gut as he stole a surreptitious glance at him. Potter was asking after his well being, surely a demonstrable effort on his part. Malfoy simply wasn’t used to someone like Harry, so beloved and lauded for his bravery and goodness, caring about the welfare of someone so universally disliked as himself. The antagonistic response to Harry was reflexive at this point. He would have to make a conscious effort if there was ever going to be the slightest chance of them being friends. And Malfoy  _ wanted _ to be friends with Harry Potter.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy said with a sigh, the word bitter on his tongue. He’d had virtually no practice delivering voluntary apologies, but he hoped Harry could see that his was genuine. At the moment, his mouth was hanging slightly ajar and he was looking at Malfoy as if he’d sprouted a second head. “Can we...start over? I’ll try to temper my sarcasm.”

“Sure,” Harry replied after a beat, and if Malfoy didn’t know better he’d think the other boy sounded relieved. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I want to try and be friends. If you do.” 

Malfoy felt a bit stunned but he nodded eagerly, glad that Harry had said it first. He could only extend himself outside of his comfort zone so much, after all. That Harry was open to any sort of relationship was somewhat mind boggling. If anything, he should hate Malfoy for all of eternity. He silently reminded himself not to look a gift unicorn in the mouth. 

“I’d like that,” Malfoy said nervously. 

“Brilliant,” Harry replied, eyes crinkling. That had been easier than he’d expected. Maybe this could work. “Let’s try again, then. How are you doing, now that we’re back?”

Malfoy couldn’t look Harry in the eyes, instead gazing over at the packed trophy case full of heavily tarnished medals and cups. It would take them several weeks to get through without magic, especially given the crap job they’d done so far. They had all the time in the world to talk, if they wanted to. 

He felt a strange giddiness at divulging his feelings to Harry, excitement mingled with reluctance, but he figured that’s what friends were supposed to do.

“Fine, I think. Nobody’s openly attacked me yet,” he replied. Harry frowned, his mouth turning down at the corners. Malfoy rolled his eyes and grinned.

“Oh… I didn’t know you could make jokes,” Harry said warily, but his eyes shone with growing mirth.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Potter,” Malfoy drawled coolly, back on familiar ground.  _ You’d be surprised,  _ Harry thought to himself. 

“I’m working on it,” Harry laughed. “But, seriously, you’re alright?”

“Yes. It’s a bit strange being back. Uncomfortable, actually, but I suppose I knew it would be. I know I’m not anyone’s favorite person, but I’m getting used to it. Though the dorms…”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, laughing nervously. He tried not to dwell on how closely he and Malfoy slept now. It made his chest feel tight. The new arrangements had come as a shock to him. He liked the old sleeping arrangements, was comfortable with them. They’d been back only a week but so far had managed to avoid each other in the showers. Malfoy was an early riser. “It’s not as bad as I feared though.”

“You mean living with me?” Malfoy quipped, trying not to smile as he abandoned the massive platter- Potter had been right- and began to scrub at a particularly stubborn spot on the flared base of a small pewter cup. Harry did something akin to laughing, little bursts of air puffing through his nose. 

“All the others, really, but yes. I was worried about you in particular.”

Malfoy looked up and met Harry’s eyes, deeply and startlingly green. They held some question there, one Malfoy wanted to answer correctly.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t hex you in your sleep,” he told the Gryffindor, placing his hand over his heart. The corner of his mouth turned up, devious. “Unless you snore.”

Harry smiled, open and genuine, and Malfoy felt his heart trip. Harry had never looked at him like that in his life, and he never dreamed he would. It was the way Harry smiled at Ron and Hermione. He’d seen it from afar often enough. Suddenly he could understand where the rumors of his charm had come from.

“I don’t think you’ll have any noise complaints. I’m pretty good with a  _ Muffliato, _ ” Harry said with a confident air. 

“I’m sure you are,” Malfoy replied smartly. He knew that there were  _ lots  _ of reasons to use a Muffliato charm in a dormitory full of sleeping boys. The tinge of pink creeping up Harry’s neck made it clear that he did too. 

They fell into a companionable silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts as they buffed at the goblets in their hands. After a time, Malfoy found himself surprisingly content with this busywork that required very little self analysis. He didn’t need to worry about what everyone else had to say about his polishing technique. Nobody was scrutinizing him, for once. Not even Harry. They simply scrubbed at the silver with their grimy rags until their fingers began to cramp. Again, it was Harry that broke the silence.

“While you may not be my first choice for companionship,” Potter began, grinning at the other boy to let him in on the joke. “This isn’t so bad. Really, it’s sort of nice...normal.”

If Malfoy racked his brain he could think of about a dozen other ‘normal’ things he’d rather be doing, but he could see Potter’s point. This time last year his life had been an unending nightmare. He had yearned for the relative safety and routine of life in the castle. 

His mind ducked away from that dark avenue of recollection. He didn’t need to go there now, not with Potter. There were things he wanted-  _ needed-  _ to say to Harry someday, but it would be a while before he could bring himself to do that. He was working on it.

“Though I think I could’ve communicated it less rudely than you,” Malfoy scolded, rolling his eyes at Harry with a reluctant grin. “I suppose I agree.”

Those last four words struck a chord of warmth within Harry. He and Malfoy had agreed on one more thing, and an important one at that. This friendship idea was seeming less delusional than he’d originally thought. The prat could actually be a bit of a laugh. Harry chose to take that as a good omen. 

They worked in a desultory fashion, talking intermittently about Quidditch or class assignments, until the timing charm on the room trilled to alert them of their release from the night’s duties.

“Brilliant,” Harry exclaimed, popping out of his chair and casting down his rag.

Malfoy was surprised that two hours had gone by so quickly. The realization was vaguely pleasant but not entirely welcome, he realized. He’d almost been  _ enjoying _ himself with Potter. After detention he would have to return to the dormitory and begin his earnest pursuit of sleep in a room with Harry and the others. He still wasn’t quite used to it. But maybe getting ready for bed tonight would feel a little more normal. 

He got up and followed Potter out the door. For the third time, they walked through the castle together in peace.


	3. The Second Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in the castle is getting back to normal as Harry and Draco get more comfortable with the idea of being friends. During their second detention, they learn a bit more about each other...in Draco's case, perhaps more than he bargained for.

It was after dinner a few evenings later when Harry next spoke with Malfoy. Though they had gotten along surprisingly well at their first detention, Malfoy kept his distance in the school at large. Harry supposed he understood. He wasn’t sure how to explain their fledgling friendship, if they could call it that. It wasn’t as if the Gryffindors were extending invitations to the Slytherins to sit with them at meals or in the library, after all. He and Malfoy nodded at one another in the halls, sometimes exchanging an uncertain and fleeting sort of eye contact. Things were still a bit frosty in the dorms and Harry got the distinct impression that Malfoy was deliberately spending as little time there as possible.

It was early enough in the term that the homework load wasn’t crippling so Harry left the library and opted for a walk around the castle. He was still getting acclimated to being back, to sharing space with so many people. It was getting easier with time but walking alone helped him to clear his head. He was wandering in the lower northeast corridor when he heard footsteps ringing out behind him. Imagining starstruck firsties or one of the girls who had taken to making googly eyes at him, he ducked into the landing below the divination stairwell, pressing his body against the wall. The footsteps were drawing nearer and he could tell it was only one person. He peeked around the edge of the wall and felt his whole body relax when a familiar blonde head rounded the corner.

“Oh thank god,” he muttered, which managed to stop Malfoy in his tracks. A year ago Malfoy had still retained the title of Absolute Last Person Harry Wanted to Run Into in the Halls. Now Harry was relieved to see Malfoy, almost happy.

“Skulking about in the divination tower, Potter?” Malfoy asked airily as Harry revealed himself. “Bit of a rubbish subject if you ask me.” Harry smiled his agreement.

“I thought you might be…”

“A member of your fan club?” Malfoy asked, tilting his head. There was no malice in his voice, a fact that still surprised Harry.

“Yeah, something like that,” he admitted while nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “They always want to talk to me when I want to be alone.”

“I can go,” Malfoy offered. Harry shook his head emphatically.

“No, I wasn’t talking about you. You can stay- if you want.” Harry didn't want to sound too eager but he found, to his surprise, that he wouldn't mind if Malfoy stayed.

“I thought you wanted to be alone,” Malfoy countered, quirking one brow.

“I guess...it’s easy to be around you because you know. You were there.”

Harry didn’t need to elaborate. The implication was clear. It hovered in the periphery of every conversation, every memory.  _ The war.  _ Malfoy understood better than anyone the painful choices that had to be made, the chill of impending death on the back of his neck. It changed a person. It wasn’t something to be boasted about in the halls to students who’d been too young to experience it.

Malfoy nodded somberly and raised his eyes to meet Harry’s. A flicker of a smile was telegraphed from one set of lips to the other.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Malfoy asked. Harry was already beginning to walk again and he beckoned for the Slytherin to follow him.

“Positive,” Harry insisted. Before he could second guess himself, he said “I”m glad you’re here.” Malfoy gave an undignified snort.

“You’re full of shit, Potter, but it’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m serious.” Harry knocked his elbow against Malfoy’s in a familiar gesture, the likes of which they hadn’t really shared before. The act, though just a simple touch, made him feel giddy, alive. “You’re easy to be around. Is that weird?”

Draco swallowed thickly before responding. He didn’t want to say something stupid like how  _ good  _ it made him feel to hear Harry say that. Something like how he’d been oddly forlorn when their detention had ended last Tuesday.

“No, it isn’t weird,” he admitted after a moment of collecting himself. “I…”  _ I like being around you, too.  _ Why could he not utter those words? They felt more significant than they sounded.

Seeing Malfoy’s deep frown, Harry laughed and let his body bump against the blonde’s again.

“Don’t hurt yourself there, Malfoy. I understand the sentiment.”

Malfoy glared at him out of habit but had to look away, biting his lips to keep from smiling. 

They finished the rest of their walk in easy silence, occasionally sharing a smile or brushing arms, but nothing more. They slept well that night.

-

Come Tuesday, Harry found himself distractedly waiting for dinner to wind down. It was the day of their second detention and he and Malfoy had casually agreed to attempt the platter together when they crossed paths in the common room that morning. They figured that through their combined efforts they could make a demonstrable impact. 

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Harry sat in a cluster at the Gryffindor table. They were making tentative plans for their first Hogsmeade trip, which was set to take place in just over two weeks, during the first weekend of October. McGonagall had made two exciting announcements at the start of dinner. In addition to the Hogsmeade weekend, she revealed that they would be having a Halloween ball this year for the entire school. 

“We have much to celebrate this year,” she’d said, eyes twinkling beneath the wide brim of her hat. “I trust you will grace us with your finest robes- and manners- on the evening of the 31st.”

Ginny had squeezed Harry’s arm excitedly at the news, beaming giddily at Hermione. Of course they’d go together, he realized. He felt a faint sense of relief that he wouldn’t be pressed to find a date like he had in fourth year. 

“I suppose we’ll need to get new dress robes,” Ron grumbled, though Harry could tell he was glad he’d outgrown the hand me down robes that, as he’d put it, smelled like his great aunt Tessi. “We’ll have to stop in Gladrags, yeah?”

Harry and Neville agreed to look there, even as Hermione suggested they send their measurements to Madame Malkin’s in Diagon Alley. Harry wasn’t terribly worried. He tended to look the same no matter what he wore. The girls would be the real focus, anyway.

The dessert plates had just materialized on the table when Ginny leaned against Harry, turning her head to the side.

“Let’s leave,” she suggested in a whisper. Harry felt her fingers sliding over his knee to creep up his thigh beneath the table and glanced anxiously at Ron, who remained oblivious.

“I’ve got detention after this,” he mumbled lamely. Ginny grinned wickedly at him, squeezing his inner thigh.

“Yes, I know. If we leave now, we might have enough time…”

Harry chewed his lip for a moment, considering. Finally, his baser instincts won out. If they left now, they could steal a few minutes alone. He stood up and offered Ginny his hand. With a lame excuse about needing to retrieve something from the common room, the two of them hurried out of the great hall. 

Malfoy noticed the two Gryffindors beating a hasty retreat, his mouth turning down at the corners. Could they be more obvious? They hadn’t even waited until other students had begun to leave. He just hoped Potter would have the good sense to wrap up his liaison with the Weasley girl in time for detention. He didn’t feel like staying late just because Potter couldn’t keep time. 

As the doors shut behind them, Ginny smiled at Harry over her shoulder, winding her fingers through his. She pulled him forward, both of them laughing nervously as they jogged down a quiet corridor. Ginny led him past the trophy room, the rest of the corridor empty and rarely traveled. Harry wondered if they shouldn’t venture elsewhere. Then again, he would be able to make it to detention before Filch showed up if he stayed close by.

They came to the end of the hallway. To the left was a small, round alcove lit by the light that spilled in through a tiny window. Ginny pushed Harry against the wall, his breath coming out of him in a huff, moonlight shining right into his eyes. He let them slide shut as Ginny’s mouth found his, warm and insistent. She sighed against him and snaked her arms around his waist, pinning him in place with her hips. 

“We’ve only got a few minutes,” Harry mumbled as their mouths shifted against each other. Ginny’s mouth found his jawbone, his earlobe, his throat, leaving little kisses as she went. 

“I know,” she replied. Her palm skated over the front of his pants, making the blood rush and his breath catch.  _ Oh, good,  _ Harry thought. They’d be done soon and Harry wouldn’t have to stay late. He knew he sounded selfish, even to himself, but then Ginny was unfastening his trousers and slipping her warm, delicate hand against his thickening cock and his mind went slightly fuzzy.

He reminded himself not to be totally greedy as Ginny’s fingers circled him and began to gently tug. He tilted his face down to hers and ensnared her mouth with his, his tongue tracing her lips until they parted. He brought his hands to rest on her shoulders, bracing slightly against her. His tongue writhed against hers and skittered over the roof of her mouth, causing her to sigh against him. With her thumb, she spread a drop of precum over the engorged head of his cock. He moaned softly into her mouth. 

When their relationship progressed past kissing it had taken Ginny some time to get used to handling his cock. She was finally gaining confidence, much to Harry’s relief. As much as he appreciated her occasional efforts, having to coach her through it took a bit of the fun out of it. It wasn't as though things were effortless between them to begin with. She seemed to be learning what he liked and responded to, how to hold it and how much pressure to apply. Now she was grasping him more firmly, working her hand quickly back and forth over the top third. Harry let their mouths slip apart for air and tilted his head back against the wall.

The thought crossed Harry’s mind that Malfoy could come ambling down this hallway at any moment, reporting for detention with or without him. They needed to be quick and quiet, lest Malfoy find them, Ginny’s delicate but calloused hand working Harry’s hard cock in a shadowed alcove. The idea was both terrifying and thrilling to Harry and he felt himself twitch beneath Ginny’s fingers. Harry knew his imagination must be getting the best of him because he swore he could even  _ smell  _ Malfoy, that soft but arresting scent like leather and spice. He tilted his head back against the rough stone and let his eyes fall shut, breathing the imagined aroma in closer. That his mind had drifted to Malfoy was mildly alarming, but he was only glad that Ginny couldn’t read his thoughts. 

Ginny must’ve sensed his arousal mounting. She removed her hand just long enough to slick her palm with fresh saliva before reapplying it to his throbbing cock. The firm slide of her fist was excellent and he moaned again, a little louder than before. She worked her hand in quick, short strokes over his engorged head, making him pant. His toes were beginning to curl in his shoes and he started to groan deep in his throat. He could feel a smoldering flush breaking out across his skin as his body temperature rose and his breath continued to quicken.

A pair of slate gray eyes observed the two lovers in mute fascination. Malfoy’s brow was almost painfully furrowed as he watched the spectacle before him with a perverse concentration from his dark corner. Once he’d finished his dinner, he had wandered toward the trophy room and then past it, killing time. He hadn’t _meant_ to find them, not really. He certainly hadn’t intended to stay. Somehow, he’d backed himself into this corner.

He was glad of his dark pants and shirt, though neither Ginny nor Harry seemed remotely inclined to look his way. He didn’t especially want to be caught peeping, but he couldn’t seem to urge his muscles into action. It wasn’t often that Draco Malfoy was arrested by the sight of something.  _ I’m going...right now,  _ he told himself more than once.

Malfoy may have worn a mask of dismissal in public but having chanced upon this intimate and erotic encounter, he allowed himself to be curious, interested. In all the wandering he’d done at Hogwarts, a lover’s embrace hadn’t been a frequent sighting. Those that he had seen couldn’t top this. He could just make out the swollen tip of Potter’s dick behind his undone fly, the youngest Weasley’s hand working his shaft. Nothing could top Harry Potter, the smooth column of his neck exposed to the moonlight as he let out a grunt of pleasure. It was fascinating. 

He could guess well enough that Potter was drawing close. The Weasley girl seemed to have a decent technique if Harry’s screwed shut eyes were any indication. He wasn’t talking at all; he seemed lost inside his body’s world of sensation. Malfoy watched raptly as Potter sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and let out a throaty growl of pleasure. That sound was instinctive to any young man and it sent a shiver down Malfoy’s spine. It was the sound of need and of release. He shouldn’t have been surprised when his own cock began to stiffen in response and yet he was.

“F-fuck. Don’t stop,” Potter said, voice hoarse. Malfoy’s balls tightened at the sound. The scene playing out before him was horrifyingly and undeniably arousing. That’s what he told himself, that nobody would be immune to such an overtly sexual display. He was sure his cock was beginning to weep precum at the sight of the other boy coming unraveled. He didn’t like how erratic his pulse had become, how hot under the collar he was. He needed to get away, and quickly, before Potter blew his load and came to his senses.

As silently as he possibly could, Draco slunk away from the two lovers, lingering in the vicinity just long enough to hear Potter faintly call out as he presumably climaxed.

Draco made it back to the trophy room undiscovered, his clammy hands jammed in his pockets. He wanted desperately to relieve himself, but there was nowhere close at hand to go for a quick wank.  _ And it would be quick,  _ Draco thought to himself, embarrassed and ashamed. Flich would be here at any moment and he couldn’t be late to detention. He didn’t know how he was supposed to sit through two hours in this state. His cock was straining uncomfortably against the front of his slacks; he knew that without even looking down.  _ Bloody Potter. _

Draco reassured himself that he could handle this. He’d been under much greater pressure in the past, hadn’t he? He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing his mind to clear itself of the sight and sound of Harry. He pressed his forehead to the rough, cool stone of the castle wall. He tried to think of things he found unappealing: Hagrid’s unkempt beard, Bertie Botts beans, the Weasley girl’s paws clamped around Potter’s arm. He’d been doing well for a moment there, before his mind circled back to Potter. He forced himself to picture his aunt Bellatrix; the image of her cackling, shadowed face always made his blood run cold. He breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure in his groin began to ease.

He heard the footsteps growing louder, the murmur of their voices heralding Harry and Ginny as they emerged from the gloom. Malfoy didn’t bother to look up from his shoes, as if they were of no interest to him. Ginny begged off quickly, which was a relief. He couldn’t bear to witness another of their displays, he thought sourly. His face communicated nothing. 

When they were alone, his eyes met Harry’s. Harry wore the slightly dopey smile he favored when good things happened to him: when he caught the snitch first or evaded a punishment he probably deserved. It was a self-satisfied smile he recognized.  _ That slag.  _

“You alright, Potter?” If his voice had an edge to it, the other boy was too good-natured or too flooded with dopamine to notice. 

“Never better,” he replied happily. “Thank you.”

Well, Potter really was in good spirits. Before this year, those two words would never have been in his vocabulary as it related to Draco. He was almost grateful to see Filch approaching. If this entire detention was going to be spent with an annoyingly cheery Potter, he wanted to get it over with. He didn’t like the tight chested feeling of agitation that he was experiencing. It felt an awful lot like jealousy and he wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Filch opened the trophy room and led the way inside. He plonked the bucket of polishing supplies on the table and turned to smirk at the two eighth years.

“Enjoy your evening, boys,” he jeered, sniggering under his breath as he shuffled out. 

Malfoy carefully avoided looking at Potter, instead crossing to the shelf that held the tray they would be polishing and carefully transferring it to the table. He took his seat and when Harry didn’t follow suit, he indicated the chair opposite with an outstretched hand. The boy broke free of his haze and scrambled into his own seat, chastened.

Harry could tell Malfoy was in a bit of a mood, but he wasn’t sure exactly what kind of mood or what had caused it. Not his rather obvious appearance with Ginny, surely? He shook the idea free from his head and picked up a rag. He took a moment to observe the other boy while his pale head was bent to his task. The Slytherin seemed intent on his work. He wasn’t in his usual caustic mood but he was far less chatty than he’d been the week prior. If he had to guess, he’d say Malfoy was brooding. Though they’d only been on speaking terms for a few weeks, Harry realized that it felt odd to be shut out when up until this point things had been going so well. Still, he could only do so much before appearing too eager. 

The boys had been polishing in uneasy silence for a while when Malfoy realized that Harry was watching him, intermittently but intently. Potter could never stand to be left without answers, but even he should know that there would be little information to find in a Malfoy’s face. Still, he’d indulged himself by being cross for long enough. It was hardly fair to punish Potter for...what, exactly? Having a girlfriend? Having an orgasm? He vowed to put it out of his mind. He’d had a moment of foolishness, that was all. 

“Blaise can’t believe I haven’t tried to hex you yet,” Malfoy said conversationally, the corner of his mouth curling just slightly. 

“Wow, your friends have such a low opinion of you,” Harry replied dryly, making Malfoy bark out a surprised laugh. Potter was very good at deflecting criticism, but he was also rather funny. "I suppose I'm not surprised that he isn't a fan of mine."

“Blaise can’t stand you, true enough. Pansy, on the other hand…” Draco didn’t know why he was sharing Pansy’s business with Potter, exactly. He doubted she’d care; she was a shameless flirt. He felt the need to contribute something more to the conversation, to make up for his earlier sourness, and he sort of wanted to see the look on Potter’s face. Sure enough, Potter looked up from his work, eyes wide behind round frames as his eyebrows lifted.

“Pansy Parkinson? You don’t mean-” he gestured vaguely at himself, disbelieving. Draco couldn’t help grinning. Potter looked rather adorably flabbergasted.

“She thinks you’re fit. Said something about a ride on your broom,” Malfoy said, the last comment a deliberate throwaway delivered with no emphasis. Still, he achieved the desired effect. Potter’s cheeks bloomed scarlet even as he guffawed.

“That’s...that’s surprising. I’m still not used to anyone liking me. It’s a miracle Ginny does,” Harry laughed, half embarrassed. “I expected hostility from everyone on your side. Your friends and family, I mean, not side as in…”

“ _ Good vs Evil.  _ I know what you meant.” Draco gave him a dim smile. He could see plainly that Harry hadn’t meant to wound. It wasn’t his fault Malfoy was an easy target. “As it so happens, there aren’t many people  _ on _ my side so you have little to worry about.”

“What’s your dad got to say about your decision to bury the hatchet with me?” Harry ventured, toying with the frayed edge of his polishing his cloth.

“This feels like the first time I’ve made a decision for myself. I’m rather enjoying not knowing what he thinks.” Malfoy had employed his practiced, cool delivery but the truth of the matter was that there was a lot he wasn’t speaking to his father about. It was a temporary but necessary measure while he figured out who and what he wanted to be. This was the first time he’d been allowed to operate outside the sphere of his father’s influence.

“Good for you. I didn’t realize he was that controlling,” Harry said. He realized a moment too late that he may have just insulted the senior and junior Malfoys in one fell swoop and glanced at Draco warily. The other boy seemed to take no notice, his gaze turned inward.

“There was never any choice in who I was going to be. Father left nothing up to chance, always  _ pulling strings _ . For a long time I was just a kid doing what I thought would make him happy. I didn’t realize who I’d become- who I  _ am-  _ until it was too late,” Draco said quietly, but with a despair that even daft Potter could hear. Malfoy’s face looked suddenly stricken, as if he regretted saying so much at once.

Harry found himself sympathizing with Malfoy, strangely enough. Sometimes he used to wonder if he had any control over his life at all, as influenced by prophecy and chance as it was. He certainly wouldn’t have chosen the path he’d taken if there had been any other options. 

“Maybe we can’t help turning out like our parents,” Harry suggested. “I barely knew mine, obviously. I’ve been following my instincts this whole time, getting by on scraps of information about each of them, and yet I apparently still turned out like my dad. An arrogant git, if Snape’s narrative was to be believed.”

The flash of pain on Malfoy’s face at the mention of his godfather was gone in an instant. Harry would not have seen it if he hadn’t been watching.

“You’re not  _ that  _ arrogant,” Draco drawled. He bit back a grin as Harry halfheartedly tossed a rag at him.

“Oh, piss off,” Harry snorted, a dull relief spreading through him at the realization that Malfoy’s sadness had ebbed for the moment. His urge to comfort the other boy had sat uneasily on his shoulders. Malfoy smoothed his hair back into place with practiced hands and Potter raised his brows. “Calling me arrogant, you conceited wanker.”

“I didn’t  _ choose  _ to be this good looking,” Malfoy protested, this time diving out of the way to avoid a smack on the arm. 

Malfoy, too, was glad that they were back on steadier ground. He couldn’t deny the cathartic effect opening up had had on him, allowing just a bit of tension to leave his body. Potter hadn’t even taken the opportunity to ridicule him, like he’d half expected. In fact, there was something about Potter that made him  _ want  _ to tell him things. It was a bizarre and frightening thought. Was this what friendship felt like? Malfoy admitted to himself that he didn’t really know. He’d only ever really had allies, aside from Pansy. 

Harry wanted to capitalize on the amicable energy that flowed between them, to prolong and solidify it. He was finding this new version Malfoy surprisingly pleasant, if still a bit prickly at times. 

“Listen,” he began, pausing his polishing and meeting silvery gray eyes again. “I know you’re rubbish at quidditch but I could use a bit of practice this week. Fancy a game of seeker on seeker?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pursing in an expression that was equal parts amusement and irritation. This was, apparently, what friendship with Potter would be like. He would take playfully antagonistic over cutthroat hostility any day. 

“You know, maybe Blaise was right about hexing you…”


	4. Flying Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the week of their third detention, Harry and Draco spend more time together both in and out of the castle. Between detention and a few flying sessions they begin to bare their souls...and a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall I have no plans for these chapter names but I started filling them in and so now I feel like I can't stop. I'm trying to get these early chapters up because they just need final edits AND because I'd love for us to get to the Christmas chapter in time for, well, Christmas. Don't hold me to that! Thanks for reading!

A mild, flirtatious breeze caressed Draco Malfoy’s face as he strolled toward the quidditch pitch but he could feel Fall approaching in his bones.The sun was sinking toward the horizon and the grounds were painted in a lovely amber light. He looked forward to shorter days and cooler nights, the crisp autumn air whipping through his hair. 

His mind snagged on the thought as he caught up to Potter, his own inky mop of hair hopelessly disheveled. His hand twitched, the impulse to push the wayward strands out of the other boy’s eyes startlingly strong. 

“Honestly, Potter, for all the press you get you’d think you’d invest in a proper haircut now and again,” he snarked as they fell into step and entered the stadium.

“It’s useless, Malfoy. It’s got a mind of its own.” He grinned, running blunt and bitten fingertips through the silky blackness.

“I have half a mind to shave it,” Draco threatened. Harry gave a coarse laugh.

“My aunt Petunia tried that once and it had all grown back by the next morning. She went mental. That was before I knew I was a wizard, when my magic would make wonky things happen,” he reminisced, a half smile ghosting his face.

“So you’ve always been infuriating, then,” Malfoy observed dryly.

“Apparently,” Harry laughed. They retrieved their brooms from the locker rooms, shedding their robes in lieu of changing. They didn’t have much time to fly before night fell but the weather was too gorgeous not to take a quick spin.

Harry realized belatedly that this was the first time they’d planned to do something together, alone, outside of detention. Anybody outside or in the castle would be able to spot them. He supposed that made their friendship official. He considered consulting Malfoy on the matter but realized that he was here, after all, of his own volition. That was confirmation enough. They were back out on the pitch and mounting their brooms when Malfoy looked at Harry quizzically.

“Did your aunt and uncle really not know you were a wizard?” he asked. They kicked off from the ground gently, lifting off the grass and hovering in the air. Harry leaned forward slightly to increase his speed and Malfoy did the same, their brooms rising higher as they began to circle the pitch.

“Oh, they knew. Petunia was my mother’s sister. She never got a Hogwarts letter, obviously, but she knew what my parents were. They kept it from me.” Harry shook his head, chagrined. “My uncle Vernon wouldn’t let me have any of the Hogwarts letters that were addressed to me. Hundreds of them came down the chimney one day, but he took them all. Hagrid was the one to find me and finally tell me that I was a wizard. He was the one to tell me what really happened to my parents.”

Malfoy wondered what it must’ve been like for Harry, being raised by Muggles who neither understood nor appreciated what Harry was. Draco’s own parents had celebrated every manifestation of his magic from the time he was born. That was how it should be, as far as he was concerned. Being born into their world was an honor, a privilege. It was sad that Harry’s introduction into wizarding life had been so late and so abrupt. By the time he came to Hogwarts, Harry was already a household name in the wizarding community. The fact that everyone knew his name and history, almost better than he did, must have been overwhelming. Everyone had wanted something from him. Even- especially- Malfoy.

“That sounds wretched,” Malfoy said candidly. They were halfway through their lap of the stadium. It had been a while since either of them had been able to fly and it felt good, familiar. Even flying next to each other brought up a feeling that harkened back to an earlier, simpler time. “You must’ve been angry with them when you found out.”

“I was angry with them for lots of things. They’re very small minded people. We don’t see each other anymore and we like it that way.”

Malfoy turned his head to glance at Harry briefly. The other boy didn’t look sad at all, only resolute as he moved his hands up the handle of his broom and sliced through the air. Malfoy leaned in to keep up. Maybe these people really were behind him. It wasn’t as if Malfoy didn’t occasionally wish he could shed his own family’s past like a second skin, emerging new and unattached, able to forge his own path.

“It’s good you have the Weasleys,” Malfoy said, trying to find the silver lining. “Everyone needs a family.”

“Yeah, they’re great,” Harry replied automatically, but he’d gotten a strange look on his face. Malfoy wondered if he’d said something wrong, but before he could ask, Harry was tucking his body tight against his broom and taking off like a shot. “Race you!” he called over his shoulder, as if he could leave it all behind him.

-

Hermione had approached the new headmistress with an idea before the start of term and McGonagall had readily agreed to it. Hermione explained the muggle practice of making counselors available to students in the wake of a traumatic event. Even though some of the students had been too young to actively participate in the battle at Hogwarts, many of them had experienced terror and loss under Voldemort’s reign. Hermione thought it would be good to give them someone to talk to, to help them work through the unresolved feelings they’d been left with.

The system was implemented quietly and without fanfare but both Hermione and Minerva noticed students begin to trickle into the counseling corridor within the first week of school. Shoulders loosened and smiles came more quickly to much of the student body. Laughter rang out in the halls more and more each day as students gave themselves permission to be happy once more. It would take time to heal the wounds, but this was a start.

Those that had been in the thick of battle- Malfoy and Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys, Neville and Luna- were busy being grateful that they’d come away with their lives and could return to a normal life. Harry hadn’t gone to see the counselor. Hermione could’ve guessed that he wouldn’t. He was very much the suffer silently type, but she knew from experience that he would ask for help when and if the strain became unbearable.

As it happened, Harry found his sessions with Malfoy to be strangely cathartic. This new Malfoy was quieter, less reactive. He carried a burden of his own and it had softened him; not too much, but enough that Harry began to feel like he could share things with him. While Harry wasn’t a mind healer, he felt it was important that Malfoy have one person in whom he could confide. The war was over, the worst supposedly behind them, and they were expected to look to the future with bright eyed enthusiasm. Beneath the incredulity and gratitude and having survived, Harry knew there were long held secrets inside Malfoy. The longer those secrets stayed buried the more they condensed like coal into diamonds, glittering and malignant. It wasn’t fair that nobody asked Malfoy how he felt; it wasn’t right.

The people who found it so easy to hate Malfoy didn’t really know the truth. The stories would always be wrong, would only ever tell the tale of light against dark. They made no mention of the wide and uneasy wasteland that spread between the two, the place where Draco had hung suspended. The truth of what had happened lay with the two of them, the people who least wanted to talk about it now. The people who most _needed_ to. 

To outsiders, Malfoy was an ex death eater, an emblem of all that had been beaten back and defeated, the ill that must be eradicated for the good of society. They would try to project their hate onto him because it was easy, because it made them feel superior. It didn’t matter to them that Malfoy had been little more than a child, that he’d been manipulated by his own blood and delivered into servitude. 

Nobody knew what Harry knew: the way his arm shook so violently, the way his face had crumpled when the time came to complete his task. They did not know that the enormity of taking a life crushed Draco. In that moment it was perfectly clear to Harry- to Dumbledore- that Draco was not capable of it. At the risk of his own life and that of his family, Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore. Harry couldn’t explain that to everyone in the world, but he knew it in his heart. That awful night in the clock tower was a trauma they shared and it had shown Harry a part of Malfoy that he had been blind to before.

Maybe that was why Harry sometimes found himself divulging things to Malfoy that he hadn’t ever vocalized to anyone else. He knew Malfoy wouldn’t worry over Harry’s mental state, wouldn’t flap his hands in distress whenever he said something dark or pessimistic. Hermione tended to do that, being such a nurturer. These were things Malfoy carried, too. When Harry found a confession spilling out of him at their next detention, he found that Malfoy was the perfect audience. He didn’t read too much into Harry’s words and for that, he was grateful.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m living on the other side of a pane of glass from the rest of the world. It’s like there’s a barrier in place that nobody else can see and only I feel.” Harry’s eyes held a faraway glassiness. Malfoy took care to stifle the sound of his breathing so as not to startle the Gryffindor out of his reverie. Odd though it was, Potter’s words resonated with him in a very familiar way. “I see what’s happening, I experience it and hear it, but it’s not the same sometimes. Like a wind blowing that I can’t feel.”

Malfoy hadn’t seen Potter looking so glum in a long time, though lately he was more privy to his emotional state than ever before. He sighed, nodding to himself, and Harry looked up from his hands. He offered Malfoy an uncomfortable smile.

“Ah- sorry. Didn’t mean to blather-” Malfoy could tell that Potter was embarrassed but he’d rather skip the backpedaling.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, in the gentlest voice Harry had ever heard him use. For some insane reason, Malfoy felt a surge of emotion, of empathy, in his chest and needed to clear his throat. His voice was a bit more crisp when he spoke again, carefully avoiding the Gryffindor’s gaze.

“That far away feeling...I have it, too.” He remembered the stifling isolation he felt in his sixth year, tasked with doing the unthinkable by the dark lord himself. He’d gone through the motions for months, coasting through classes and biding his time until he could get away to work on the vanishing cabinet. He had been completely consumed and yet had been unable to confide in anyone. He had felt like he existed on a plane parallel but separate from his fellow students. It had been a lonely time.

From the corner of his eye he saw Potter reach out as if to rest a hand on his shoulder. He grunted in objection and Potter withdrew his hand, a breathy chuckle rumbling in his throat. A tiny smirk played at the corners of the Slytherin’s mouth.

“That’s about all the solidarity I can handle for one night,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair to stretch languorously. His button down shirt was uncharacteristically untucked, the hem creeping up to reveal an eyeful of taut pale skin and the finest blonde hairs traveling down to and past his belt. Potter stared a beat and pointedly looked away while Malfoy pretended not to notice. They both ignored the funny squirm in their stomachs. Harry stood first.

“I reckon we can knock off for the night,” he said, ducking his head out into the silent hallway. There was no sign of Filch but he could feel the late hour in the sudden droop of his eyelids. He heard footsteps as Malfoy came to join him. 

“Shall we go to bed then?” the blonde asked.

“So cheeky,” Harry replied, pretending to be scandalized even as a grin cracked his face. Malfoy made a sound of disgust and Harry led the way out, laughing. Malfoy blew out a gust of hot air, half ready to hex the Golden Boy, but instead jogged a step to catch up. They walked back to the dormitory side by side. 

-

Harry and Draco had missed flying more than they’d realized. Few things quieted the mind as efficiently as the physical exhaustion borne of a good fly on a broom. When they’d landed after their first outing, wind whipped and bright eyed and a little hoarse, they’d agreed to meet up again soon. That they couldn’t be observed too closely or overheard up in the air was an added bonus. It was Sunday night when they’d next stolen away to the quidditch pitch, long after dinner had ended and students had returned to their dormitories. Unbeknownst to them, the darkness of the night sky had hidden the storm clouds from view.

The two boys skidded across the wet pitch on their heels, having just touched down on the grass. The rain had come on so suddenly that they’d been caught mid-air in a deluge as the droplets pelted them painfully. They scrambled off of their brooms and sprinted- Harry half blind- to the locker room. They practically toppled in on top of each other, out of breath and soaked to the bone.

“Merlin,” Malfoy exclaimed. He shook his head, sending water droplets flying everywhere before slicking the wet hair back into place. If Harry had to categorize that move, it would be effortlessly sexy. No wonder the girls found him so attractive. He was downright charming when he wanted to be, damn him. That was an empirical observation. Some people just  _ are  _ attractive and Malfoy was one of them. 

“You know we’re going to have to run back to the castle,” Malfoy said. It took Harry a second to catch up.

“Bollocks.” He hadn’t really thought about that part. 

“Or we could fly,” Malfoy suggested, arching a brow. “You could take us.”

That was how Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy wound up riding tandem on Harry’s broom for the second time ever. Malfoy had been clever enough to suggest that they fly and that Harry, who knew how to enchant his glasses to repel rain, should take them both.

Outside the locker room, Harry mounted his broom as he had a thousand times. Malfoy felt his stomach clench as he approached.

“You’d better not kill us,” he warned, swinging his leg over the broom and scooting up behind Harry.

“Ready?” Harry asked, raising his voice so Malfoy could hear him over the sound of the rain pelting the ground. He saw Malfoy nod out of the corner of his eye. “Alright then. You’ve got to hold on.”

Malfoy gulped and looped his arms around Harry’s middle. He suspected his hands might be clammy, though it was too wet to be sure. Their wet robes squelched together as Harry kicked off, smushing their torsos together.

The rain was icy cold and stung their faces as they ascended, Harry hoping to get a better view as they headed toward the safety of the castle. They were flying against the wind and Malfoy felt briefly jealous of Harry’s protective eyewear. His own eyes were getting so spattered with rain that he had to wipe them with the back of his hand every few seconds. Even then, his vision was blurry.

Harry felt Malfoy press his face into his back and his stomach did a flip flop. He knew it was probably only to protect his face from the battering rain. He was probably imagining the feeling of the other boy’s arms coiling tighter around his waist, too. He forced himself to focus, tucking a little tighter to his broom to increase their speed.

The lights of the castle swam into focus and Harry aimed the broom toward the sconces that flanked the front door. The wind buffeted them, pushing them sideways. Harry had to oversteer the broom, leaning in to coax it lower as frigid water slid down the neck of his robes. 

“Nearly there,” he called, craning his neck as the wind ripped the words from his mouth. He felt Malfoy nod against his shoulder. 

Harry angled the broom down and they began to descend. The soggy ground loomed up to meet them. He corrected at the last second, dragging the broom up parallel to the ground and coasting onto the flagstones where he let his heels drop.

Reluctantly, Malfoy released Harry and dismounted before running to push open the door. Harry slung his broom over his shoulder and they entered the school, looking like a pair of drowned rats.

“See? Not dead,” Harry said, grinning at Malfoy and pushing his sopping wet hair off his forehead.

They quickly made their way through the castle and up to the eighth year dormitory, careful not to make extra noise. Their late night flying session fell within a gray area in the school’s rules but they had a feeling Filch would be happy to assign them more work if given the chance.

The common room was deserted, the fire low and fading quickly. 

“It’s freezing,” Malfoy complained, already working to unfasten his soaked robes. “I don’t know about you but I’m going to take a hot shower.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything better than getting out of his soggy clothes and under the hot water. Images of Malfoy lathering his chest and stomach rose unbidden to the top of his thoughts. Embarrassed, he nodded and followed the Slytherin up the stairs. 

In their dormitory most of the others were sleeping, some with curtains drawn. Seamus was just shutting a magazine when the two seekers entered the room. Malfoy nodded cordially and Harry raised a hand in greeting. 

“Night,” Seamus said, arching an eyebrow at Harry in lieu of any question about his appearance or choice of company. Harry smiled sheepishly and began fussing with his robes, waiting until Finnigan had laid down and shut his eyes before beginning to undress. The urge to peek over his shoulder at Malfoy was overwhelming but he kept his back turned as he shed his robes, trousers and shirt. Clad in only his boxers, which were clinging wetly to him in a most revealing way, he scurried into the shared bathroom. He turned on the water in the middle stall and summoned a towel from the pile replenished by the house elves daily. 

When the water was ready, he slid his boxers down and kicked them off. He was completely naked, his skin clammy and cool. He heard a shuffling behind him and was only mildly surprised when he heard Malfoy’s familiar sardonic tone.

“Waiting for me?”

“I was checking the water, actually. Contrary to your belief, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” Harry was glad that the other boy couldn’t see the flush on his face. Harry had of course shared the wash room with other boys many times, but this time felt different. Harry felt flustered. Perhaps it was because they were alone. Maybe it was the late hour or the close proximity or the cheeky conversation. It wasn’t Malfoy. It wasn’t.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was busy committing every curvature of Harry’s arse to memory. His lower back was spectacular, tapered and gently dimpled above his arse. It was a good thing Potter was getting under the water. He was semi-erect, a fact he wasn’t keen to reveal to the Golden Boy.

When he was sure Harry wasn’t looking he shucked his briefs and ducked under his own shower head. It was steamy and warm, beginning to thaw his chilled skin right away. He sighed indulgently as it cascaded over his neck and shoulders.

“Would you quit moaning over there?” Potter asked, his tone light even if his voice was a little strained.

“Pardon me for enjoying myself,” he scoffed, turning and tilting his head back to the let the water pelt his chest.

“You’re only supposed to  _ enjoy yourself  _ when you’re alone,” the Gryffindor chided. “And you think you’re so well bred.”

Malfoy retaliated by cupping his hands and tossing water over the half wall between them and on to Harry, who yipped in surprise when it hit his exposed back. 

“You git!” he laughed, splashing the blonde right back. If he stood on tiptoe he’d be able to see  _ all  _ of Malfoy, he realized. And here he’d been thinking there was nothing more homoerotic than getting into a splash fight in the shower… Harry briefly lamented that he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“You’re the suggestive one,” Malfoy said slyly. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back so he could work a dollop of shampoo into his hair. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a thing for me.”

“Obviously. You’ve found me out,” Harry retorted with a snort. He was proud of his response. He’d hardly missed a beat and yet he could feel a flush creeping across his cheeks. If Malfoy knew he’d hit a nerve, he didn’t let on. He just continued working up a lather, the muscles of his stomach and chest shifting and flexing deliciously beneath pale, wet skin marred faintly with scars. 

Harry watched as Malfoy moved back under the water to rinse his hair. Harry turned hurriedly away before Malfoy caught sight of his slightly swollen cock. He didn’t  _ like  _ Malfoy, he told himself. He dispensed shampoo into his palm and began to scrub his scalp furiously, as if that could somehow cleanse his mind of those niggling thoughts.

He could appreciate the other boy’s physique, sure. Harry had felt that way before about other boys. It was natural to notice these things, he’d told himself. He liked the Slytherin as a friend. Malfoy’s charm and penchant for flirtatious goading was simply confusing things. That was all. 

Conversely, Malfoy was not conflicted or confused at all. Potter was  _ fit _ . There was no denying that, no matter how dopey and irksome the Gryffindor could be. With his back turned, Malfoy had another opportunity to admire Potter’s posterior. His back and shoulders were more sculpted than his clothes would suggest and very nice to look at. Really, though, his tight and pleasantly round derriere took the cake. Malfoy wasn’t sure how he’d never noticed these features of Potter’s before.

They took turns sneaking glances at one another and sharing sheepish smiles as they finished showering. When Draco finished first, shutting off his water and securing a towel around his waist, Harry was both disappointed and relieved. The sudden tension between them, while intriguing, was getting to be too much for him. He had no idea what it meant or what to do with it. Only when Malfoy went back into their dormitory was Harry able to take a deep, cleansing breath. He turned off his water and wrapped himself in a towel before heading back to their shared room to change, taking special care to keep his eyes off of Malfoy as he did so.

Harry slipped into bed, fidgeting beneath the sheets as he tried to find a position conducive to sleep. Truth be told, he didn’t feel tired. His mind was restlessly replaying snippets from the day and his belly was tight with the antsy excitement he’d become familiar with during fourth year, when he’d been so infatuated with Cho Chang. 

That was strange. He didn’t want to read too deeply into the feeling. He thought maybe his body was misunderstanding the excitement of his new friendship with Draco, which he'd been surprised to find he was enjoying. He was only a git some of the time, it turned out. Still, something kept bringing him back to their tandem flight back to the castle. He could nearly feel the ghostly sensation of Draco’s arms wrapped around his waist. Maybe some residual adrenaline from their ride was keeping him up.

He rolled over on his side, facing the room and, inadvertently, Draco. The other boy lay flat on his back, both arms folded behind his head and his hands tucked beneath his pillow. Harry didn’t dare to prop himself up to see Malfoy better, but he thought the other boy looked pleasantly at rest. Of course he would drift right off to sleep, the bastard. 


	5. Taking Care of Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Apologies for going MIA with the updates for a bit. Holidays happened, I got sick, you know the drill. I'm trying to get back into the editing groove with this series and get us back on schedule. Here's the next chapter. Still a slow burn but we'll get there- I promise!

The next morning found Harry leaned back in his seat, clutching his side as he laughed at a joke Seamus had just told. He was in high spirits this morning despite his late night and less than dreamless sleep. Giddy, even. Seamus smiled mirthfully as he got up and went to the other end of the table to find a fresh audience. Hermione looked up pointedly at Harry over the top of her copy of The Daily Prophet.

“Oh no. Not that face. I haven’t done anything!” He protested, warding her off with his crossed fingers. Ron guffawed knowingly, having himself been on the other end of that prying gaze plenty of times. Harry was in too good a mood for whatever was lurking behind those accusatory eyes of hers.

“I didn’t say you had, Harry. I simply looked at you,” she huffed, her lips pursing as she shut the paper with a snap and tucked it under her plate. “Though I am a bit curious about your late night gallivanting.”

“Ron!” Harry moaned.

“Seamus told me! I don’t care, mate. Do what you want!” Ron blurted, holding his hands out in front of him defensively.

“Listen, I was out flying a bit late and got caught in the rain. I came in and went to bed after that,” Harry said, a bit tightly. He took a sip of pumpkin juice and glanced reflexively toward the Slytherin table. The ice blonde head of hair his eyes sought was conspicuously absent. Since when?

“With Malfoy?” Her tone drew his focus back more than her words. It took him a moment for his ears to catch up. 

“Yes,” he replied slowly, his voice thick with hesitancy. He reminded himself that there was nothing to be ashamed of. He was allowed to have Malfoy as a friend. The twist of her mouth made him feel differently.

“I’m not so sure he’s such a good influence,” she said primly. She fluffed her hair over her shoulder and popped a slice of sausage into her mouth. 

This was just like Hermione, inserting herself into his business and voicing her concerns unbidden. He appreciated it most of the time; she was speaking her mind because she cared. He didn’t think it was fair to blame Malfoy in this case, though. It was no secret that Harry had a taste of his own for mischief and boundary pushing.

“Oh come on, Hermione. I’m not exactly the responsible one. Look at my track record,” he reasoned, chuckling a bit at the last part. 

“He’s been making dumb decisions since first year,” Ron conceded, nodding thoughtfully. Harry made a rude hand gesture and the two of them dissolved into laughter. Hermione looked away but stifled a quiet giggle. Harry  _ had  _ shown a flagrant disregard of the school rules on more than one occasion without any prompting from the Slytherin in question.

“So then you’re a bad influence on Malfoy?” She asked, arching one brow. Harry barked out a maniacal little laugh at that thought, he was so surprised by it. He mulled it over for a second.

“I don’t know. It feels like a pretty even split,” he replied, grinning. He went to look for Malfoy again and felt a pang of disappointment. He wasn’t there and breakfast was halfway finished. That was very strange. He didn’t know when he’d started checking for Malfoy at meals but apparently he hadn’t missed one in recent memory.

“I hope you know that I’m only looking out for your best interests,” Hermione sighed, recognizing that she’d probably lost Harry’s attention already.

“‘Course you are,” Harry replied with a wink. He shoved a last bit of toast and egg into his mouth and slung his bag over his shoulder, preparing to stand.

“Where are you going?” Ron asked, his eyes following Harry as he rose off the bench.

“I forgot my Charms homework. I’ll see you in class,” he replied, already turning toward the door. If Ron and Hermione had anything to say, he didn’t hear it.

The eighth year dorms were empty and quiet. The other students were already gone, eating breakfast or studying before class. Harry climbed the stairs to his dormitory two at a time and opened the door.

“Malfoy?” he called, pausing on the threshold with the doorknob still in his grasp. He looked to Malfoy’s bed. The curtains were drawn but if he strained his ears, he could hear deep breathing. Was he…? 

No, nobody stayed home from breakfast to wank. It didn’t take that long, after all, and surely someone besides Harry had noticed his absence. Harry told himself to get his mind out of the gutter. It was much more likely that the Slytherin had overslept. Harry took a few tentative steps toward the emerald curtains.

“Malfoy?” He called out softly, willing his voice not to crack. He was answered with a faint and indistinct grunt. He certainly sounded asleep. Harry waited, his brow furrowed, for a response from Malfoy. When several moments passed and none came, Harry parted the deep green curtains just slightly to let a sliver of sunlight in.

“Mnph,” the Slytherin grunted and screwed his eyes shut once more. “Bloody hell, Potter. What is it?” The blonde sounded a bit croaky. Was that his morning voice? Harry watched as Malfoy slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. His hair was mussed from sleep and his eyes were red rimmed. This was far from the picture of perfection Harry had imagined Malfoy’s waking state to be.

“You’re missing breakfast. I came up to check on you,” Harry replied, thinking nothing of his words until they were out of his mouth. “You’re going to be late for class if you don’t get moving.”

“I’m not going. I feel awful.” Malfoy coughed into the crook of his arm-  _ how considerate-  _ and groaned. His chest seemed to rattle faintly. The tip of his nose appeared a bit pink as well, as if Malfoy had been blowing it in the night. Perhaps he had. 

“You’re sick,” Harry mumbled, frowning again.

“Well spotted, Potter,” Malfoy snipped, apparently well enough to roll his eyes as he eased back down under the covers. He sniffled again. “Flying around in the freezing rain apparently does that to a person.”

Harry did what the mothers he knew always did and pressed his hand to Malfoy’s forehead. The Slytherin weakly raised his brows and gave an amused smirk but didn’t waste any energy trying to fend him off. 

“You don’t feel feverish. Should I get Madame Pomfrey?” Harry thought it was probably a cold but wondered if it might be something worse. As far as he knew, Malfoy hadn’t been sick from flying in adverse conditions before. Maybe he’d just gotten unlucky. Malfoy waved him off and coughed once more.

“I’ll be fine after I’ve gotten more sleep. Just let me borrow your notes later for homework?” 

“Of course,” Harry reassured him, nodding. He watched the blonde boy wriggle into the mattress, eyes shutting as one arm slid under his pillow. It was the strangest thing, this display of familiarity and vulnerability. He was certainly ill. The old Malfoy would never have allowed this. “I’ll be back to check on you in a while.”

“Mmm...thanks, Potter,” Malfoy mumbled sleepily. Harry let the curtains fall closed with a whisper and left the dormitory with a small smile on his face.

-

Harry found himself very preoccupied with Malfoy’s well being when he ought to be listening in class. He managed to keep up with notes so that he’d have something to lend to Malfoy but the material they were discussing did not earn his full attention. He hoped he would be recovered enough to attend detention together. Not because he would miss Malfoy’s company, he reminded himself, but because working alone would be a tremendous bore. 

Ron, who couldn’t stand Malfoy, took no notice of his absence. Hermione was far more astute than her boyfriend, however, and sidled up alongside Harry between classes to inquire after the missing Slytherin.

“Why would I know?” Harry asked defensively. He knew how incriminating that sounded and wasn’t surprised when Hermione laughed.

“Honestly, Harry, it’s just a question. You sleep in the same room. I assumed you might have seen him this morning.” Her mouth showed the hint of a smile. 

“Er, sorry. I did see him, actually. He’s sick,” Harry replied. 

“Too much late night flying?” She asked archly, nudging Harry’s side.

“Don’t gloat,” he chuckled. “Actually, maybe you can help me. What’s that awful stuff you put on your chest when you’re sick?” He couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. He’d seen his Aunt Petunia use it on Dudley when he’d been ill. She’d never offered any to Harry but he knew where she kept it and used it once when he’d had chest congestion.

She looked puzzled for a moment before the light went on above her head.

“It’s Vicks menthol rub. I doubt you’ll be able to find any around here, though. It’s muggle stuff,” she replied.

“That’s ok. I knew I could count on you,” he said, flashing her his brilliant smile. He was going to run to the infirmary the first chance he got. Madame Pomfrey would have something like it, if not better, he felt sure.

Sure enough, Madame Pomfrey had produced a salve from her stores that would draw out impurities when Harry explained what he was looking for. It was very unorthodox to dispense medicine to a student by proxy but Harry was practically an old friend to her by now, and quite persuasive on top of that. She handed it over on one condition: that if the anonymous patient’s health declined any further, Harry would bring him or her to the infirmary immediately. 

“It certainly can’t do any harm but it won’t help one bit if there’s something more serious the matter,” she explained, straightening her starched white cuffs. “Do I have your word, Mr. Potter?”

“Of course. Thank you, Madame Pomfrey,” he said earnestly, going so far as to give her a small bow. Her lips curved in a small smile and she shooed him along. 

Harry made a detour in the kitchens on the way back to the eighth year dorms. The elves were all too happy to provide him with soup and bread, spelled to keep warm. He could see from their faces that it pained them not to deliver the food to the dormitory directly, but Harry assured them that he could manage transporting it. He had a strong hunch that the indisposed Malfoy wouldn’t want to be seen by anyone else as it was. They finally reached a compromise when Harry agreed to accept a ham and cheese sandwich for himself in exchange for delivering Malfoy’s food in their stead.

With the salve stashed in the pocket of his robes and a tray of food levitating before him, Harry went to attend to his patient. He couldn’t fully ignore the rising excitement as he neared his destination. 

There was no avoiding it: Harry was inexplicably fond of Malfoy. He never could have foreseen this most unlikely friendship before he’d boarded the train a few weeks prior. Sure, he’d been willing to defend Malfoy and his mother during the post-war trials, but he’d seen that as a moral obligation rather than an olive branch. There were people who deserved to prosecuted to the fullest extent of the magical law but after looking at the facts he didn’t consider the junior Malfoy to be one of them. 

In all honesty, Harry had been relieved when they were commanded to make amends. Hating Malfoy was exhausting and after everything that had happened in the war, calling him an enemy felt ridiculous. Their rivalry would have appeared childish now, petty. Worse still, it would’ve further occluded the development of what had proven to be a unique and rewarding friendship.

Crazy as it was, they were in many ways quite similar. He felt an emotional ease with Malfoy that he’d yet to experience with any of his other friends. Of course he trusted Ron and Hermione with his life. After all they’d been through, they were like siblings and best friends rolled into one. There was just some indefinable quality about Malfoy that made Harry want to open up and divulge tender, private thoughts. He’d given Malfoy several chances to wound him and the other boy had never taken them. He made Harry feel heard but not judged, a salvation in a world of people who’d been watching him since infancy, who always had an opinion.

Harry shook his head to clear it as he reached for the knob of their bedroom door. He didn’t need to overanalyze everything that went on between him and the Slytherin. They were friends, it was going well and he ought not jinx it. He took a cleansing breath and opened the door, allowing the tray to float in before following it through the doorway.

“Good, you’re up,” Harry chirped, seeing that Malfoy had parted the curtains and was yawning.

“Just barely,” Malfoy groaned, his raspy voice made rougher from sleep. “Breakfast in bed? Is it our anniversary?”

Harry was too disarmed by the quip to be embarrassed. He laughed heartily as he guided the tray to rest on the nightstand. He plopped his bag down on the floor and summoned a chair, positioning himself so that he was adjacent to the bed but facing Malfoy.

“You’re still funny when you’re sick,” he admitted, grinning over at the pale boy who was scooting back to sit up against the headboard. Malfoy looked relatively unchanged from this morning, which Harry supposed was a good sign. At least he wasn’t worse. “That’s what the soup’s for, actually. And I’ve got something from the infirmary for you.”

“What’s this sandwich here?” Malfoy asked, nosily poking the wax paper wrappings.

“It’s mine, you can’t have it. I earned it,” Harry retorted, eyes glinting as he snatched it from beneath Malfoy’s fingers.

“What sort of person deprives a sick man of food?” Malfoy chastised, failing to conceal his own mirthful expression. He shook his head dolefully. “How did you earn a sandwich?”

“By being a good samaritan. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

It was Malfoy’s turn to laugh. He really was tickled by Harry’s appearance with food and entertainment. If he had to have a visitor, he supposed Potter was his first choice these days. He carefully set the soup in his lap and took up his spoon. 

“So what did you bring me, besides the soup?” he asked, carefully filling his spoon with broth and bringing it to his lips. Harry fished the little tin out of his robes with his sandwich-free hand and showed it to Malfoy.

“It’s a salve that removes impurities. It should take care of all that congestion,” Harry explained, waving vaguely at the other boy’s chest. He noticed Malfoy scrunching up his nose but ignored it. “There’s a similar muggle product that really works. Just try it. If you’re still sick and have to miss our detention tomorrow, I’ll kill you.”

“We certainly don’t want that,” Malfoy mumbled, grinning into his soup. Harry unwrapped his sandwich and the pair ate in comfortable silence for a minute or two. Harry was happy to see that Malfoy had an appetite. Some of his color appeared to be returning to his face and his sniffling was minimal. The rest had done him good.

Harry glanced briefly at the clock on Malfoy’s bedside table. His detours had eaten into the lunch period and he needed to leave for his afternoon classes before long.

“Bored of me already, Potter?” Malfoy drawled, setting his soup bowl on the nightstand and leaning back on his pillows. He yawned into his hand.

“Never,” Harry said sarcastically, even as he shook his head. He picked the tin of salve up and held it out to Malfoy. “I do have class, though. We can’t all laze about in bed all day. Here, put some of this on.”

“I don’t want to,” Malfoy whined, scrunching his face in a dramatic display of displeasure. “It’s icky and I’ll have to get up and wash my hands. I’m too weak.”

“Bloody hell, you’re insufferable when you’re ill,” Harry sighed. He pried the lid off the tin and gave the medicinal balm a sniff. It smelled strongly of menthol, like the muggle stuff. “You’ll feel better once it’s on. Just give it a try.”

Malfoy turned his nose up and jerked his covers up over his shoulders.

“I’m not touching it. It looks slimy.”

“It will make you feel better, you git!”

“You put it on, then.”

“Fine,” Harry scoffed, even as his heart thumped against his ribs. He pulled Malfoy’s blankets back and motioned for him to pull up his shirt, feigning a nonchalance that he truly did not feel. The other boy curled his pale fingers around the hem of his cotton t shirt and pulled it up, slowly revealing the alabaster skin of his stomach and chest. Harry noticed his softly jutting hip bones first, followed by a trail of fine white blonde hairs leading the eye from his navel down below the waistband of his pajama pants.  _ Oh. _

He looked different outside of the shower with the clarity of glasses. Better. If Malfoy noticed Harry ogling him, he didn’t say a word. 

“Right then. This might feel a bit cold,” Harry said, doing his best to ignore the gentle rippling of muscle across the Slytherin’s abdomen. He dipped two fingers into the hazy silver salve, trepidation coursing through him. He told himself to calm down, that he was just doing Malfoy a favor. He leaned forward, smearing the glob across Malfoy’s sternum. His skin was warm and smooth under Harry’s fingertips. What would it feel like to lay his head there? _That’s weird. Stop being weird._

He flattened his hand against Draco’s chest and began to rub the ointment in. It tingled a bit against his palm. He didn’t know how thick of a coating he should apply in order for it to work. He figured he should cover the chest but that he didn’t need to apply any to his stomach. That was probably for the best, in his case. He tried to focus very hard on what he was doing but he couldn’t block out the incoming information about the softness of Malfoy’s skin. The viscous quality of the salve meant that his palms and fingertips could glide easily over the subtle contours of the other boy’s flesh.

He looked up and found Malfoy watching him with his head cocked slightly to one side, pewter gaze steady beneath half lowered lids. It made him nervous to see Malfoy this calm, this quiet. Again, he felt that insidious excitement, a flapping feeling in his stomach like a trapped Cornish pixie. He knew he was beginning to blush. Damn it.

“This alright?” Harry stammered, if only to fill the silence. 

“Mm,” Malfoy hummed, nodding once. It was nearly a moan, a sound that made Harry swallow thickly. Of course it was fine. He would have said something if Harry was hurting him. Harry scooped out a bit more of the salve.

“Just a bit more should do it,” he explained. 

The room had gotten very quiet. He could feel the absence of sound- save the rasp of their breathing- pressing against his ears as his fingers massaged the apex of Malfoy’s left pectoral muscle. He’d managed a smooth, even covering. His skin shone and shimmered where the salve has been applied. He slowly removed his hand and cleared his throat.

“Thanks,” Malfoy purred. “It feels nice. Easier to breathe.” The corner of his mouth curled in a sleepy smile.

“I’ll just um...wash my hand,” Harry squeaked.

He rose from his chair and crossed to the loo. He was grateful for a moment to compose himself. He twisted the tap and thrust his hands under the cold water. He took a series of deep breaths as he lathered his hands and rinsed the salve away. What was that charged moment that had passed between them? Surely Harry hadn’t imagined it.

When Harry returned to Draco’s bedside, he’d mercifully replaced his shirt and brought his covers up to his chest. He was yawning again. He’d taken the opportunity to cast a quick concealment charm over his lap, but Harry didn’t need to know that. 

“When the salve turns green it’s ready to be removed,” Harry said, capping the tin and setting it on Malfoy’s nightstand. “I’ve got to go to class now but I’ll be back to check on you before dinner. Try and get some more rest.”

Malfoy stretched, arching his back deeply before tucking his arms under his head. He looked so at ease, so comfortable. His ability to appear unruffled was truly uncanny. Harry momentarily envied his ability to spend the day in a warm bed. 

“I’ll be here,” Malfoy promised, reaching for the curtains to snap them shut. He locked eyes with Harry and flashed him a coy grin. “Thanks for taking care of me, Potter.”

Harry waved and trotted down the stairs, smiling to himself for no reason at all. It only occurred to him as he was stepping out of the dormitory entrance that a simple scourgify on Malfoy’s hands could have circumvented that entire situation. He wondered if Malfoy had already figured that out. 

-

Harry hurried back up to the dormitory when afternoon classes finished, taking the stairs up to his bedroom two at a time. He was relieved to find that he was the first one back as he dumped his school bag on the bed.

“Malfoy?” he asked, finding the Slytherin’s drapery open and the bed empty. There was a creek from the bathroom door and Draco stepped out, one fluffy white towel wrapped tightly around his waist and another being ruffled over his hair, making the muscles in his arms and torso jump. The underfed look he’d been sporting at the start of term had gradually given way to the lean, sinewy body more reminiscent of his days on the Slytherin quidditch team.

“Hey,” he said, grinning as he lowered the towel and brushed his damp hair back with his fingers. Harry swallowed and averted his eyes, focusing instead on removing his robes and tie. “That goo you put on me turned green so I figured a shower was the best way to get it off.”

“You sound better,” Harry observed. Malfoy turned his back to Harry and whipped off his towel before he could find a suitable distraction. Harry watched, dumbfounded, as Malfoy’s pert arse was encased in the stretchy black fabric of his boxer briefs. He had a series of increasingly ludicrous and explicit thoughts flicker across his mind, dismissing them as soon as they arose. 

“I feel better, enough to come to dinner,” he replied, tugging on his usual black trousers. He turned to Harry with a smirk, his chest still bare. Harry could make out the pale pink peaks of his nipples from across the room and remembered the feeling of that smooth skin beneath his palms. “Looks like I won’t miss that detention so you won’t have to kill me, after all.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Harry said breathily. He heard the thundering of footsteps on the stairs and was not surprised to see Seamus, Ron and Blaise all spill into the room.

“There you are, Harry,” Ron said, slinging his bag onto his four poster. “I was looking for you.”

“I was avoiding some firsties and had to book it back here,” Harry lied. Ron seemed to believe him because he didn’t ask any follow up questions before beginning to change for the evening. Harry quickly unfastened the buttons of his shirt and shucked it off. When he looked up, he caught Malfoy’s eye for a fraction of a second before the blonde pulled on a jumper and turned his attention to Blaise. Harry quickly tugged a Weird Sisters t-shirt over his head and trotted down the common room to wait for Ron and Hermione. 

-  
  


“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall’s crisp voice rang out behind him and he turned to see her striding toward him, green velvet robe billowing around her.

“Hullo, Professor.” He greeted her warmly with a small inclination of his head. She gestured for him to continue walking alongside her and together they made their way toward the great hall. 

“I presume that you’ve settled in nicely?” she asked.

“Sure. It feels good to be back. This place has always been home to me.” He knew he didn’t need to tell her that; she knew it as well as anyone. It had been the headmistress herself who had personally overseen the castle’s restoration over the summer, determined that it would be fit to receive students at the start of the year. Their love of the castle was mutual.

“And how have your detentions been going?” She asked, a shrewd look aimed at Harry. “Mr. Filch tells me that the polishing has been...sub standard, though I suppose that’s a secondary concern.”

Harry chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that. I guess Malfoy and I mostly talk,” he confessed. “We’ll do better this week.”

McGonagall’s mouth turned up in a small but pleased smile. 

“It seems my punishment is having its intended effect,” she observed placidly.

Harry couldn’t begin to tell her how well her plan was working. Not only had he and Malfoy gone over a month without fighting, they’d begun to seek one another out. That Harry was becoming perhaps  _ too  _ interested in Malfoy was something he wasn’t prepared to divulge to anyone.

“Things are going well,” he admitted at last, knowing that would be enough to satisfy her. He didn’t want the success of her maneuvering to go to her head. 

“I’m proud of you both for taking this seriously. You’re more alike than you think,” she said softly as the doors to the Great Hall loomed up in front of them. “Mr. Malfoy had many good excuses not to return to school, as you did. I’m sure that your friendship means a great deal to him now.”

Harry felt a funny twist in his gut coupled with a tightness in his chest. He wanted that to be true, more than she could ever know. He couldn’t bear the intensity of this feeling to rest solely on his shoulders.

“With that said,” she began crisply, turning to Harry and fixing him with her pressing gaze. The torchlight twinkled in her eyes and he thought, maybe, that she was smiling. “I would very much appreciate if you and Mr. Malfoy would at least _ pretend _ to respect the curfew. You may be capable wizards of age but there are impressionable young students who have no business being outside of the castle at night.”

His cheeks warmed with embarrassment at being caught out and chastised but he bit back an impish grin nonetheless. 

“Right, of course. It won’t happen again.” He nodded emphatically, pulling the door open for her. She laughed softly, knowing very well that they may have this conversation again, and walked through it.

-  
  


Their detention that week passed easily. Without saying so out loud, they’d reached an implicit agreement their time in detention was safe, private. After their walks in the castle and their flying sessions, they felt less inclined to fight the comfort they felt in one another’s presence. It was becoming clearer that this tentative bond they were building was genuine. Harry in particular had been reflecting on McGonagall’s words. Alarming as it was considering their past, he realized that Malfoy was  _ important  _ to him. What that meant, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be there for him in whatever way the other boy would allow.

They were back to working on the platter, Malfoy having just made a particularly snarky- if accurate- critique of Milllicent Bulstrode’s singing voice, which they’d overheard drifting down to the common room earlier in the evening.

“Does it get tiring being such an arsehole?” Harry quipped.

“No, not really. Most people are bloody stupid and deserving of my disdain,” Draco scoffed, and Harry couldn’t help smiling at the false bravado.

He loved that he could do that- make Harry grin, share a private joke with him. It made him feel so good that sometimes it scared him. He’d never known someone who made him feel quite the way Harry did: like when he looked at you  _ just so _ , you suddenly became the only people in the room. 

Urged on by that smile and a thoroughly un-Malfoy desire to voice his deeper concerns, Malfoy continued, his voice just above a whisper. “What wears on me in the feeling that I’m alone in the world.”

Malfoy shut his eyes, embarrassed by his own admission and queasy at the vulnerability he’d just displayed. He regretted having spoken. They were having a perfectly fine time and he had to go and let his  _ feelings  _ out. He was supposed to be fine, to need nothing and no one. That was the Malfoy way. What was it about the Gryffindor that made him do that?

He was only half surprised to feel Potter’s hand come to rest on his shoulder. He didn’t shrug it off as he would have in the recent past. The physical touch of comfort was not something he was accustomed to but it was appreciated. 

“You’re not alone.” Harry said, pouring all his empathy and sincerity into the words in the hope that even a little bit of it would reach Malfoy, permeating the walls he’d built around himself.

Truthfully, Malfoy knew that Harry was right. He  _ wasn’t _ entirely alone. He had his mother, whose love and protection were the fiercest forces he’d ever encountered. He had friends who could be relied upon to a reasonable degree. And, if he was being very honest with himself, there was now Potter.

Over the course of a few weeks Potter had somehow become the most consistent feature of his life at Hogwarts. He wasn’t quite like a friend, exactly, not the same as Blaise. A confidante. Draco knew that Lucius would spit on the ground if he saw the Potter boy touching his pureblood son but he chose to ignore that. Lucius wasn’t here; Harry was.

“Thank you,” Draco said, his white blonde head still bowed. The urge to cry had passed him, thankfully, but when Harry gave his shoulder a meaningful squeeze he felt another stirring, this time lower.  _ Merlin’s beard, not now.  _ “Sorry I got all...you know.”

“Nah, mate, you’re good. You should see me when  _ I  _ get emotional. I’m insufferable. A real whiner.” Harry cracked a smile, relieved when Draco’s face brightened in response. If this was how the Slytherin was able to open up, in fits and starts, that was ok by Harry. “You know you can always talk to me, yeah?”

Malfoy hid his sheepish grin behind his hand as he pretended to rub his nose. Potter could be so bloody  _ kind _ . Sweet, even, though Malfoy would sooner kiss Weasley than say such a thing. When he looked up, those green eyes were trained on him. Harry’s mouth was still curved in a smile but there was something else in his eyes, a look Draco couldn’t quite identify.

“I know,” Malfoy said at last. His lips pursed in amusement. “My nurse and now my therapist. You really are the total package.”

They laughed at that, back on more solid ground. They didn’t discuss the incident with the salve, which was probably for the best. They finished up detention without any more emotional outbursts.

It wasn’t until much later, when Draco was fluffing his pillow into the perfect shape, that he realized something. He  _ knew  _ the look Harry had worn, or at least he thought he did. That glitter of interest in his emerald eyes was one Draco had seen before from blokes he’d met on vacations with his parents and in darkened alcoves within this very castle. But...it wasn’t possible. He shook his head, laughing softly as his foolish thoughts, and willed himself to sleep.


	6. The Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since the night of their rain-soaked flying session, Harry has found himself confused as his mind- both waking and dreaming- becomes more consumed with thoughts of his friend Draco.

_ Harry could hear his heartbeat in his ears, blood coursing through his body and barreling down to the junction between his legs. He saw his own hands swimming before him, seeking something in the dark. His breath was rough, coming in bursts as he reached out and felt warm, soft skin. Pale skin and a lean, solid torso. Sharp hipbones. Slender fingers, wrapping around his wrist and pulling him down.  _

_ He knew he shouldn’t, that it was wrong, even as he gave in. He let his body acquiesce, aligning itself with the one underneath, radiating so much heat he thought he would burn up. He breathed in the spicy scent hungrily as his own hands roamed and clutched at the body beneath him. His hips rocked down and forward, creating a friction so delicious he could not stop the moan that escaped him.  _

_ Those hands found him again, touching him everywhere at once, controlling him. He couldn’t break away, didn’t want to. He was drunk on desire, ready to be devoured by it. Their bodies became impossibly tangled as they tumbled together in a sea of emerald.  _

_ A hand closed around him, stroking and caressing him until the last thread of control snapped. A lock of the fairest hair brushed his cheek, their panting breaths mingling as Harry arched off the bed, exploding from the inside. Pleasure assaulted him and he keened as he came, shuddering. He would have been lost completely if not pinned to the bed by eyes the color of mercury, glistening in the low light. His ecstasy peaked and in the throes of it he spoke a name.  _ **_Draco._ ** _ The room was flooded with an impossibly bright light as waves of pleasure swept him away… _

Harry woke suddenly, a strangled sound trapped in his throat. His curtains were open a crack and a shaft of harsh sunlight shone upon his face through the window nearest his bed. Covering his face with his hands, he tried to slow the hammering of his heart. He strained his ears for any sounds of wakefulness from his roommates and heard none. He hoped against hope that he hadn’t spoken out loud. 

_ What was that about?  _ He wasn’t sure he was ready to find out. The implications of this dream would take some untangling and he wasn’t up for that just now. He told himself that it was just a dream, that it didn't have to mean anything.  From the quality of the light he could tell it was earlier than he’d normally wake but there was no point trying to fall back asleep. He was fully alert and up for good. He decided to get out of bed, shower and start his day but before he could sit up his eyes landed on the tented protuberance beneath his covers. 

Right. He was painfully hard and taut as a bowstring.

He really wanted to have a wank. His chest was still tight with a potent mixture of confusion and desire. If he was quick he could be done with it and showered before anyone else woke. He knew that if he didn’t take care of it he’d be antsy for the rest of the day, up to and including his detention with Malfoy. He didn’t want those lustful feelings clouding his focus when they were together. The dream had been  _ so vivid.  _ He knew he couldn’t just shake it off.

The decision was made. He snaked one hand down his body, bitten fingers dipping below the elastic of his boxers to grasp his shaft. His head dropped onto the pillow with a muffled groan. He felt a fat bead of precome dribble from the head of his cock as he stroked upward. The pressure and friction felt exquisite and his balls tightened slightly. He would be able to come quickly. He bit down on his lower lip and tried to keep his breathing even as he thrust up into his fist.

His mind replayed images of his hands roaming Malfoy’s firm chest, even as he tried to bat them away. He couldn’t just dismiss the visuals as a product of the dream. He’d been thinking about it, in waking and dreaming. He had touched that very skin,  _ knew  _ with certainty how warm and silky it felt beneath his palms. He had enjoyed it. Moreso, he had a sneaking suspicion that Malfoy had enjoyed it too. When Harry had glanced up to find that he was being watched, those gray eyes unflinching, he could feel Malfoy silently egging him on. He had always teased Harry, only now he was learning to do it in a different and more insidious way.

Those eyes. He had seen them moments ago in his dream, glinting knowingly as they watched Harry unravel. His balls tightened again and he gave a barely concealed grunt, his fist sliding faster over his engorged cock. Even now he thought he could detect Malfoy’s warm, spicy scent from across the room and his skin prickled all over. Try as he might to push the other boy out of his head, he couldn’t. The harder he tried the more his brain supplied new, baffling thoughts and images. Harry had to give in. 

Harry dropped his mental shields and focused on his mounting pleasure. He could almost see Malfoy above him, bare chest illuminated with the harsh light of morning as his hand replaced Harry’s. He could imagine the tickle of his hair caressing Harry’s cheek as their bodies slid together. Their hot breath mingling between them. The way the Slytherin's eyes narrowed when he saw something he wanted. His normally cool voice simmering with barely restrained desire as he spoke against Harry’s ear...

It was too much. Harry’s whole body went rigid, poised to explode, as he tipped over the edge. His cock twitched in his hand and tendrils of heat ripped through him as he came, pearly ropes of come oozing onto his stomach. He was lightheaded, floating, the word tumbling from his mouth as he came untethered, every fiber of muscle pulled so tight they might snap.

“ _ Draco _ .” 

He hadn’t meant to say it but as he rode the swell of endorphins he didn’t quite care. He was warm and tingly, thankful for the release he’d desperately needed. He lay there for a few minutes letting his skin cool and his breathing return to normal. Now he could begin his day.

Several beds away the blonde Slytherin in question was lying on his back, transfixed and smiling sleepily at the sound of his own name, hoarsely whispered just moments ago. He almost doubted his own ears but something told him to trust his gut on this. He had heard enough to know what had happened within those scarlet drapes. Of course the Golden Boy would forego a silencing charm, the pompous git. He heard the Gryffindor get quietly out of bed and, moments later, the sputtering of a shower starting. 

He stretched, about ready to get out of bed himself, and wondered what to make of the recent development. Not too long ago Potter had been his sworn enemy, after all. On top of that, he had a _girlfriend_. Despite that, Malfoy knew what he'd heard just now and it most certainly hadn't been Ginny's name. He knew that he hadn't imagined the growing fondness between them; perhaps it was a bit more?

Objectively speaking, Malfoy took no issue with a starring role in the other boy’s fantasy, if that was in fact the case. It would be truly hypocritical of him, considering the ogling he’d done in the showers the other night. If he was being honest, the idea of Potter fantasizing about him was quite flattering and more than a little arousing.

It was very curious indeed. He decided to keep his eavesdropping to himself for the time being. It might prove advantageous later, he thought with a smirk. 

He couldn’t resist torturing Harry a little, though. He got up and ambled into the bathroom, running his fingers through his sleep-disheveled hair. Harry was under the spray, his slippery back turned toward Draco as he massaged his scalp to clear it of shampoo. Draco tip toed over to the urinal on the other side of the room to relieve himself, biding his time until he announced his presence. When he’d finished, he watched for a moment as Harry lathered his shoulders and chest, the contours of muscle catching the dim light. He wondered what, specifically, Harry had been imagining. It was too bad that Harry had received a bit of occlumency training, he thought to himself.

“Morning, Potter,” he said in his usual chilly tone, feeling intensely gratified when the Gryffindor jumped at the sound of his voice. 

“Morning,” Harry replied, pretending to be preoccupied with adjusting the temperature of the water so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with the other boy. “I didn’t realize you were in here.”

“You must not have heard me over the water,” Malfoy replied helpfully, careful to enunciate this time to account for the sound of the spray hitting the stones. He swallowed a devilish grin and began brushing his teeth. He faced the mirror in front of him but angled his body in such a way that he could still see Harry if he wanted to. The Gryffindor had no idea how much Malfoy enjoyed making him squirm, did he?

After a bit of gratuitous fidgeting, Harry turned off the water. He reached for his towel and ruffled his wet hair rather violently. Malfoy granted him the small courtesy of averting his eyes as he stepped out of the stall and wrapped the towel tightly around his waist. Malfoy watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry’s mouth opened and shut nervously, his neck and cheeks a ruddy pink that could have been from the hot water but probably wasn’t. 

“See you at breakfast,” he muttered at last. He darted out of the room before Draco could even reply, so he merely chuckled to himself.

-

Having satisfied his most immediate urges that morning, Harry filed away his dream and subsequent questions in a part of his brain he didn’t visit often. Compartmentalization was something he’d become quite good at over the years. Relegating Malfoy to the back of his mind, however, was a greater challenge. 

He actually tried to pay attention in class, with mixed success. Hermione usually kept him on track with one of her hawkish, disapproving looks. He would smile agreeably, dip his quill in ink and return to his notes when she’d caught him distracted. He was more or less fine if he couldn’t see Malfoy or didn’t have to be in the same room as him.

As usual, their potions class was shared with the eighth year Slytherins. The three Gryffindors filed into the classroom just before class began, Harry taking up the rear. He kept his head down until he’d reached his seat, not wanting to give anything away in his expression. He pulled out his textbook and was just about to set a roll of parchment on top when Ron leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“We’re brewing today, mate. Remember?”

“Right. Thanks,” Harry muttered, stowing his paper back in his bag. He finally looked up toward the front of the class and found that there was no avoiding the blonde Slytherin. Malfoy, the collar of his crisp white shirt stark against his black robes, was sitting directly in Harry’s line of vision a few rows ahead. 

_ That’s fine _ , Harry told himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d had a dream or fantasy about someone and run into them after the fact. Granted, this was a bit different. Malfoy was not just a random classmate. He was more like a friend. 

Harry decided it was better to get this exposure out of the way now so that he would hopefully be back to normal by their detention in the evening. The squirmy feeling of guilt and arousal couldn’t last forever. Could it?

They’d spent the last month brewing Veritaserum and, having achieved excellent to passable results (Harry’s potion happily occupying the middle of that range) were moving on to the antidote. Harry reviewed the ingredients quickly and went to retrieve them from the class stores in the back of the dungeon room. 

“Veritaserum’s application is most advantageous when the recipient is unaware, as they are less capable of fighting a potion they have unknowingly consumed,” Slughorn reminded the milling students as they searched for the items they needed. “It is never a bad idea to keep some antidote on hand at home if you suspect you might come into contact with it. Of course, the headmistress has urged me to remind you that dosing other students with potions without their consent is expressly forbidden on Hogwarts grounds.”

Harry was squinting to read the faded label on a glass canister, not overly confident that he’d found what he was looking for.

“Need some help?” Malfoy said, from so close behind him that Harry could feel his breath on the shell of his ear. He jumped, but only slightly, and was mortified at the choked sound of surprise he’d made. He cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing first on Malfoy’s smirking mouth. 

“Erm, yes,” Harry mumbled. He could feel his ears growing warm as he realized just how close they were standing. It wasn’t just his imagination this time; he could detect the warm, masculine smell of the other boy quite clearly. The urge to breathe him in deeply was undeniable. The surge of desire made his heart beat wildly in his chest. How was Malfoy always so calm? And why was his own body going crazy?

The Slytherin’s fingers brushed softly over Harry’s as he took the glass bottle from him. He didn’t even bother with the label, turning the bottle over in his hand so he could check the contents. He returned the canister to the shelf and selected a smaller one made of brown glass. He placed it in Harry’s hand, and this time he wondered if Malfoy wasn’t letting his hand linger an extra moment on purpose. 

“Thanks,” Harry said lamely, his eyes roving Malfoy’s inscrutable face. There was nothing to see but that cool, confident smirk and a twinkle in his eye.

“Happy to lend a hand,” he replied, his voice low and smooth. He waited a beat, his eyes dipping down Harry’s body before returning to his face, and returned to his seat. Harry, feeling stunned by the uncanny nature of the whole encounter, shuffled back to Ron and Hermione. 

It wasn’t until the end of class that Harry realized Malfoy had walked away from the supply shelves empty handed. All the ingredients he needed had already been waiting at his station.

-

Harry was granted a blessed reprieve from thoughts of Draco after their encounter in potions. They’d missed each other when they’d all returned to the dormitory after classes, which was probably for the best. Between that and dinner, when the girls were adither with plans for the approaching Halloween ball, Harry had time to collect himself. 

Harry supposed he was looking forward to the festivities of the ball, but he found he didn’t really want to talk about them that evening. He ate his fill of food, not having been that hungry to begin with, and excused himself for a walk around the castle until it was time for detention. Ginny frowned at him as he rose from the table, though she’d begrudgingly accepted that his solitary walks were good for him. He strode from the Great Hall and deliberately did not look to the Slytherin table, proud of his self control as he shouldered open the heavy door.

There was a plaque on the wall just outside that Harry absentmindedly ran his fingers over. There were over fifty metal plates there, each one engraved with a name of someone who had died during the final battle. There had been several nights in his first week back when he’d come here, to read the names off one by one. Sometimes he cried for the people he loved and lost. Other times he just rubbed his eyes tiredly and sat down on the flagstones, staring up at the plaque in a silent and lonely vigil. He didn’t stop today, instead heading aimlessly into the castle.

It was fitting that his feet should lead him to one of the places that reminded him of an old friend. A sad smile crossed Harry’s face as he came upon the classroom that had once belonged to Professor Remus Lupin. While he was deeply missed, Harry’s memories of him here were so vivid that he could almost sense his presence. Why not have a look inside, for old time’s sake?

Harry pushed open the door, his breath catching in his throat when he saw what he’d stumbled in on. As if plucked directly from the recesses of his brain, Draco was leaning back against the opposite wall, moonlight spilling over him, his pants pushed open. He had his head tilted back, eyes shut, mouth ever so slightly agape. The source of his pleasure was presumably Astoria Greengrass, who seemed to be doing something with her hand that Draco rather enjoyed. Harry couldn’t see what nearly as well as he would have liked.

At the sound of Harry’s gasp, the pair of Slytherins started. Astoria squeaked, huddling closer to Draco as her head whipped over her shoulder. Draco’s eyes caught Harry’s and if he was embarrassed he concealed the fact well. Astoria’s body was blocking most of Malfoy’s but Harry noted her exasperated eye roll as he casually zipped and fastened his pants.

“Evening, Potter,” he snipped, though for some reason Harry got the distinct impression that he was amused by this run in. 

“S-sorry. I didn’t realize-” he stammered once his mouth had caught up with him. His eyes bounced between Malfoy’s partly unbuttoned shirt, bare chest and the crotch of his pants, impressively tented. He couldn’t stop himself from looking but he tried, at last forcing his gaze to meet Draco’s again. The blonde Slytherin was thoroughly unperturbed. “I’ll just go.”

“Hang on,” Malfoy interjected pleasantly, consulting a pocket watch he’d pulled from his pocket.  _ Of course he’s got a pocket watch, the wanker.  _ “We’ve got detention, anyway.”

“Are you serious?” Astoria snapped, as incredulous as Harry upon hearing Malfoy’s last words. “Can’t you be late?” She frowned at Draco who was busy fastening the buttons on his now rumpled shirt.

“You may not be as familiar with detentions as us bad boys,” Malfoy said, throwing a conspiratorial smile at Harry that made his pulse quicken. “But no, we can’t. The point is that it’s not optional. Later, Stori.”

Harry was stunned, watching in mute bewilderment as Malfoy crossed the room toward him. He grabbed Harry’s elbow and steered him out the door ahead of him when he realized the Gryffindor wasn’t going to move on his own. Harry stumbled colt-like into the hall before getting his stride, Malfoy walking smoothly and confidently beside him. His brain didn’t know how to process the fact that Malfoy was walking away from Astoria, and presumably a handjob, in order to attend detention with him. 

Harry replayed the scene on a constant loop as he followed Malfoy dumbly through the castle. He wished he could go back and pause time, pore over every inch of moon drenched skin that Malfoy had left exposed. He couldn’t decide if he thought fate had been cruel or kind in showing him that vignette. He had just been dreaming of Draco, hadn’t he? Some part of him obviously wanted to see something like what he’d just happened upon. Fortuitous though it seemed, the unpleasant sensation of envy gnawed at his stomach. But who was he jealous of, Draco or Astoria?

Malfoy strode briskly into the trophy room and selected a decorative medallion with wood trim to work on. Harry was trying to shake himself from his preoccupation as he examined his options. He picked up a tarnished miniature quaffle and brought it to the table. 

Aside from subtly adjusting the front of his trousers, Malfoy made no mention of his interrupted liason in the classroom. If anything, he seemed at ease, happily taking up his rag and beginning to polish while Harry stared at him openly.

Harry tried to follow suit but it was no use. He had to say something. Didn’t he?

“Er, listen, I really am sorry about walking in on you. I would’ve covered for you-” 

Malfoy looked up through pale lashes, mischief warming his quicksilver eyes.

“I told you, Potter. It’s not a big deal at all.” He returned his focus to his plaque but he was still wearing a small smile. Not once had he appeared remotely embarrassed, which Harry found rather impressive.

“Are you sure? I mean, you looked pretty involved. If I’d known you were in there I wouldn’t have gone in, I swear.”

“I know you weren’t  _ spying _ , Potter,” Malfoy chuckled. “I can just wank later. I’ll survive.”

Harry felt heat climb his neck at the Slytherin’s frank admission. Sure, he knew that everybody masturbated. But not everybody  _ talked  _ about it. Certainly not high society, pureblood wizards who used to hate him. And whom he’d seen semi naked on a growing number of occasions. And whom  _ he’d _ been wanking to thoughts of that very morning.

“I  _ know  _ you can wank, Malfoy.”  _ Fucking brilliant. Keep talking. _ Harry silently cursed himself and continued on, though the blonde was visibly amused by his blunder. “I just meant...won’t she be annoyed? Is she your girlfriend?”

If the roles had been reversed and Harry had walked away from Ginny with Malfoy, she’d have hurled a hex at him so fast that his head would spin.

Malfoy dropped his rag now, considering Harry silently before opening his mouth again.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said simply, though Harry felt that there was something the blonde was leaving out.

“Okay...so you just, what, have one off sometimes?” He knew he was being forward in asking but he had a burning curiosity to know what went on between them- and how often, apparently.

“You’re awfully inquisitive tonight, aren’t you?” Malfoy asked. His tone was sly, playful. If he didn’t want Harry to pry, he was doing a terrible job of trying to dissuade him. 

“I guess I’m just curious, is all. I used to think Pansy was your girlfriend,” Harry volunteered. Malfoy’s brows shot up then furrowed as he shook his head vehemently.

“Absolutely not,” he snorted, shuddering. “I love her but...god, no.”

“So Astoria is just…”

Malfoy rolled his eyes indulgently. Potter wasn’t giving this up any time soon, that was clear. If he wasn’t so privately delighted by the attention, he’d wonder why the other boy cared so much.

“Astoria isn’t anything. It was just a mutually beneficial opportunity. A one-time event that didn’t come to fruition.” The blonde shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

“Is it always like that?” Harry tried to imagine it but couldn’t. He hadn’t ever had that sort of arrangement with someone, a one off. By the time he was ready for casual sexual encounters, everything else in his life had started to spin out of control. And then there had been Ginny.

“No, I usually get to finish,” Malfoy replied without missing a beat. Harry spluttered indignantly. 

“You know what I mean!” Harry retorted, and Malfoy’s answering grin was bright and devilish.

“I’ve seen the same person for weeks or months at a time, if I feel like it,” the blonde said cryptically.

“You’ve dated people here? How have I never heard about it?” Harry wondered aloud. Hogwarts wasn’t a small school; gossip didn’t always filter up or down between the grades but Harry thought, given his keen interest in all things Malfoy, that he might’ve heard something about the infamous blonde’s romantic romps.

“‘Dated’ is hardly the right word,” Malfoy replied with a suggestive arch of his brow. “That being said, I had two rules. One: never date down. All encounters were between myself and older students, preferably ones who were graduating shortly. It meant there was less time for rumors to circulate. Obviously as the oldest in the school, I now have to compromise. Two: Don’t be too friendly. I never spent time with them in public and I made them aware that I wouldn’t hesitate to hex them if I suspected they were getting chatty.”

“Merlin, you’re cold,” Harry said with a soft huff of laughter. Malfoy shrugged noncommittally but didn’t argue. Harry realized that Malfoy had artfully side-stepped any gendered language and wondered if that had been deliberate. Harry had always assumed Malfoy was into girls. “Wait. You said they?” 

“I’m an equal opportunist,” Draco drawled coolly, examining his nails with practiced indifference. “I have my preferences, of course, but needs must. Is that an issue?”

Here Malfoy looked up to catch Harry’s eyes, something hard and defensive glinting there. It took a moment for the information to sink in but Harry was able to read between the lines. Malfoy was bisexual. If he was interpreting correctly, he thought Malfoy was saying he preferred men but that he’d had both male and female partners at Hogwarts. The nature of the confession didn’t bother Harry at all; in fact, he felt his curiosity intensify. He couldn’t believe that Malfoy had successfully kept this hidden from him in all the years of what basically amounted to stalking.

Harry realized he was staring at Malfoy and offered him a conspiratorial smile. His secret was safe. 

“Not an issue at all,” Harry said. Malfoy’s expression smoothed and he nodded. Questions percolated on Harry’s tongue but he knew he’d gotten a lot from Malfoy already. To pry much more would be rude. “Well, whoever you’re with, you can just tell me to fuck off next time. I really am sorry.”

Draco snorted in amusement, appreciative of Potter’s deft handling of the sexuality discussion, however oblique it had been.

“Stop saying sorry. If I wanted you to leave, I’d have said so,” he said easily. He nibbled the corner of his lip, debating whether or not to say the next bit. In the end he couldn’t resist, delivering it so casually that it took a moment to register with Harry. “I suppose we’re even now.”

“What?” Harry had just picked up his quaffle statuette but he let it fall to the table with a thunk. He felt an alarmed fluttering in the pit of his stomach. Did Malfoy know about this morning, about the dream?

The blonde smirked like the kneazle that got the cream, making Harry squirm internally.

“I saw you and Ginny. It was an accident, obviously.” Though he sounded genuine, Draco didn’t exactly look contrite, and Harry wasn’t sure if that should bother him or not. 

“When? I had no idea…” He and Ginny hadn’t had _that_ many opportunities for libidinous meetups since they’d been back in the castle.

“That’s because I’m capable of discretion, unlike  _ some people _ ,” Draco teased, grin widening. “It was before our detention a few weeks ago. In the alcove.” He jerked his head toward the hallway.

“Oh my god,” Harry buried his face in his hands. He felt the inexplicable urge to laugh, of all things. He was embarrassed, but that wasn’t all. He remembered those stolen moments with Ginny, when he breathed in and thought he could smell Malfoy’s cologne. It had excited him.

Across the table Malfoy was chuckling.

“How much did you see?” Harry asked in a choked voice that was both amused and mortified. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer but he had to ask. He certainly couldn’t tell Malfoy that his brain had flickered to thoughts of him in the moments leading up to his orgasm. When Malfoy didn’t say anything, Harry’s head shot up.

“Don’t worry about it, Potter. I just wanted to make you feel better about the Astoria thing. Life goes on.” He sounded like he was genuinely trying to make Harry feel better but his face was still creased with mirth where he leaned back in his chair. He clearly found this all very funny, whereas Harry was about ready to crawl out of his skin with a baffling mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

He gulped and pulled at the collar of his shirt anxiously, and Malfoy did laugh then. 

“I forgot how easy you are to fluster, Potter,” he snickered, tilting his head to the side and giving Harry that warm, liquid gaze again. “I think that might be my favorite thing about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is almost done and I have the crux of 8 done as well so keep an eye out for those completed chapters soon. I keep revising/reworking and trying to find homes for snippets I wrote when I first dreamed this story up, which has been slowing me down. I think I just need to leave well enough alone and post them, eh?
> 
> [ETA: I realized that Astoria is supposed to be older than Draco (I think) and thus there is a logic error in her still being at Hogwarts with them. My bad! Let's just pretend, shall we?}


	7. Defending Draco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the course of their week, several events transpire that make it clear to both Draco and Harry just how important their new friendship has become to each of them. While Harry very much enjoys spending time with Draco, not everyone is so happy to have him around. Some of them even make the mistake of saying so in front of Harry, a catalyst which sparks some important revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had been 80% done for a while now but I kept needing to revise and tweak it. I'm still not 100% happy with it but it will get us where we need to go. It's up a few days later than I wanted but it's a bit longer. Enjoy! (Thanks for all the kudos this week, they really made me excited to share the rest of this story with you :D )

Malfoy jogged to join the throng of students heading to Hogsmeade, blending into the back of the crowd as he slipped his hands into gloves. The front doors opened to release the students and he felt a wave of crisp air swirl around him. The sky was a pale white-gray, unreadable, though he thought he could detect the suggestion of snow. He pulled a black knit cap from his pocket and tugged it down over his head, appreciating the anonymity it gave him if not the aesthetic of it. It was something he’d picked up on of his very few forays into muggle London; as it turned out, his hair was as conspicuous there as it was in the wizarding world. Though he’d once liked the feeling of eyes on him, he now appreciated the ability to appear unremarkable in a crowd.

Up ahead he spotted Harry walking next to Hermione and Ron, whose hair licked the edges of his woolen hat like orange flames. They were laughing about something. Malfoy’s heart gave a little tug at that open, easy smile of Harry’s. He’d gotten hooked on it, somehow, having figured out which buttons to push to earn one himself. Showing off had never been the key to winning Harry’s affection, contrary to what his father had told him. Harry responded to humor, to authenticity. He was essentially incorruptible and wouldn’t be swayed by wealth or status- or cruelty. 

Draco got a sour feeling in his stomach when he considered how much time had been wasted on their rivalry. If things had gone differently, if Draco had given Harry a chance to really get to know him instead of the cool bravado that would come to define him…

He shook his head to clear it, letting the bracing cold pull his focus back to the present. He had to stop rehashing the past. That’s what Harry would probably tell him. He couldn’t fix the mistakes he’d already made. Harry was his friend now and that was what mattered. Granted, it had taken Malfoy instigating a fight and punching Potter in the face to bring them together, but it had happened nonetheless. He was beyond pleased to have finally experienced the brilliance of that smile firsthand. 

He smiled to himself as they trudged toward the village en masse. It was nice to be outside with the promise of sweets and a bit of Christmas shopping looming on the horizon. He knew that Pansy and Blaise were around somewhere and he let himself edge forward in the crowd, half aware of his tendency to keep checking in on Harry as he moved. He noticed as he drew nearer the golden trio that Harry was rubbing his bare hands together fervently as he talked with his friends. Weasley had on multicolor knit monstrosities and Hermione wore lavender mittens but Potter resorted to absentmindedly bunching the fabric of his cuffs into his fists to protect them from the cold. Malfoy knew then what he’d be getting Harry for Christmas and moved on with renewed purpose.

The first stop that Ron, Hermione and Harry made when they arrived in Hogsmeade was to Scrivenshaft’s, at Hermione’s insistence. Harry needed a few new quills as he so often broke them in his school bag. Ron grumbled as they made their way inside.

“How a person can spend so long looking at blank parchment is absolutely beyond me,” he said with a puzzled look at Hermione, who had already drifted off.

“Just be glad she didn’t force us straight into Gladrags to try on stuff for the ball,” Harry muttered with a conspiratorial smile. Excitement was starting to build amongst the girls but he found he wasn’t nearly as excited about the dressing up portion as they were. From Ron’s expression at the mention of clothes shopping, neither was he.

Ron selected a new bottle of quick-drying ink for himself before helping Harry pick out replacement quills. Before long, Hermione was back, cradling rolls of parchment in her arms as if they were delicate treasures.

“Think you’ve got enough there, Hermione? That’s probably enough to finish the school year and then some,” Harry observed with a laugh as they headed toward the counter to pay.

“You know I like to be prepared in case of mistakes. At this point, I expect all of my essays to go beyond the required length so I have no doubt I’ll find a way to use this up.” She gave the shopkeeper a smile as she handed over her money. He handed her a paper bag with the scrolls tucked carefully inside.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you loved school supplies even more than me,” Ron joked, sliding a few sickles across the counter to pay for his ink while Harry fished some money out of his pocket for his two quills.

“Oh, Ron, don’t be silly. I love you  _ at least  _ as much as I do parchment,” she said soothingly. Ron looked pleased for a moment until he registered what she’d said. 

“Hey!”

Giggling, they left the shop to continue on with their errands. They stopped in Gladrags- “Just to  _ look _ ! You can’t put it off forever!”- where both Ron and Harry had their measurements taken and flipped disinterestedly through a stack of fabric samples. Hermione surreptitiously scribbled down the best options and took owl-in order forms for them to bring back to the castle and fill out later. Satisfied, she allowed them to continue on.

Harry went into Dervish and Banges for conditioning oil for his broom. They didn’t have as big of a selection as Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon but thankfully he still had a good pair of twig trimming scissors. It wasn’t as if he was flying full time these days but he wanted to keep his equipment in good shape for his flights with Malfoy.

Harry was happy to practically bump into the blonde in question at their next stop: Honeydukes. 

“Hello there, Potter,” Malfoy said lightly as he turned to face Harry, a bag of Pepper Imps in one hand and a few Chocolate Frogs in the other. He wouldn’t normally address Harry so publicly but they were obscured from the rest of the store by an overlarge display of shelved licorice wands, lending a sense of privacy. He took note of Harry’s coat with a look of approval on his face. It was a charcoal double-breasted peacoat that fell to just above his knees with a high, cowl-style lapel and brass buttons. If he had to guess, Harry must have inherited it from Sirius Black; though possibly a bit deranged, the man’s style had always had an aristocratic edge that Draco had admired. The coat suited him.

“Hey, Malfoy.” Harry grinned, eyeing the items in Malfoy’s hands and holding up a Chocolate Frog of his own. “Stocking up on sweets, I see. Careful or you’ll ruin your appetite.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of self control. These are emergency provisions,” Draco reassured him with a crinkle of amusement at the corner of his eye. “Speaking of which, d’you want to grab a drink at The Three Broomsticks before we’ve got to head back for dinner?”

Harry’s pulse gave an excited thump at the invitation before he remembered with a sinking feeling that he had other plans. He grimaced and rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“I wish I could. I sort of told Ginny I’d go to Madam Puddifoot's with her before we leave.”

“Oh, right. No problem,” Malfoy replied, feeling slightly deflated but trying not to show it. It was a small consolation that Harry sounded genuinely disappointed, though whether it was due to his destination or his choice of company remained unclear. “We’ll go next time.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Harry nodded, brightening. Their eyes met and something warm and urgent sizzled between them until they both looked nervously away.

“Well, have fun with Ginny,” Draco offered lamely, trying to distract himself from the heat rising to his skin.

“Thanks but I think I’d rather try and milk a manticore than sit in Madam Pudifoot’s for half an hour,” Harry confessed. He and Malfoy shared a rueful grin, the latter stifling a snort of laughter.

“Yet another reason to avoid having a girlfriend,” Draco pointed out smugly. “That place is a saccharine hellscape.”

Harry barked out a laugh at that remarkably apt description. The steamy little tea shop was tacky beyond belief and would be particularly offensive to someone as refined as Malfoy. He couldn’t imagine the persnickety blonde perched amongst the doilies and floral chintz, let alone picture him clasping hands with someone across the table as they stared soppily into each other’s eyes. He liked that Draco doled out his tenderness sparingly. It felt more special that way.

“A garish horror,” Harry agreed, still laughing as they drifted toward the register. Harry snagged a box of Fudge Flies off the shelf as they passed. “She’s been nagging me to hang out this weekend. My vote was for the Shrieking Shack but she vetoed that…”

“The Shrieking Shack, eh? You really know how to romance a girl, Potter,” Malfoy quipped, thrilled when Harry spluttered and smacked him in the arm. 

“I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ , you bloody pervert,” he hissed, half-grinning in spite of himself. 

“Takes one to know one,” Malfoy countered, hooting in laughter when Harry shot him another withering look. 

“You are such a pain in my arse,” Harry huffed. Despite the ribbing, his tone was light and good-natured. He plucked the candy from Draco’s hands and put it on the counter with his own.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Malfoy made to separate his items from Harry’s but the latter batted his hands away.

“I’ve got it. I really shouldn’t reward your bad behavior, but think of this as incentive.” When Malfoy raised a querying eyebrow, Harry continued. “If I’m not back in the castle in an hour, it’s because I’ve died in that awful tea shop and you’ll need to retrieve my remains. I want to be buried with my broom.”

“It’s a deal,” Malfoy said somberly. “I’ll think of you when I eat these Pepper Imps.”

Though he doubted that Ginny Weasley would’ve been too happy about it, Draco found himself pleased at Harry’s reluctance to go on his date. He liked knowing that Harry wanted to join him for a drink, even if he couldn’t actually do it. When Harry had paid and they’d each deposited their candy into their own shopping bags, they walked out of the shop together. Ron and Hermione were sitting together on a bench across the way, sharing the box of Bertie Bott’s Beans they’d presumably just purchased. Ron was preoccupied rooting around in the box but Hermione caught sight of Harry and Draco and gave a tentative wave. Draco gave her an equally uncertain smile before turning back to Harry.

“Well…” Draco found himself hesitant to say goodbye but he had no excuse to prolong it, especially with the other two thirds of the Golden Trio waiting nearby. Harry scuffed the toe of his shoe against the cobblestones, suddenly bashful.

“Harry!” The Gryffindor looked up, started by the sound of Ginny’s voice cutting through the chilly air. She was standing near her brother and Hermione, waving him over.

“I suppose it’s tea time,” Malfoy observed. Harry nodded, swallowing a smile.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked hopefully.

“Later,” Malfoy agreed. He watched as Harry trotted toward the others, Ginny’s mouth pinched as she gave him one last frosty glance.

With an hour left of their visit, Harry let Ginny pull him along to Madam Puddifoot’s for their date. The bell over the door tinkled merrily as they entered the tea shop. Harry was immediately accosted by the powdery aroma of flowers that hung in the steamy air. There were other couples and a few groups of girls occupying most of the tables. Harry began to undo the buttons of his coat as followed Ginny toward an open spot, shuffling through the crowded space.

He helped Ginny out of her coat and draped it over the back of her chair before doing the same with his own and taking his seat. The menu was limited to teas, coffees and confections so they spent a few minutes deciding on their order- a coffee with a splash of milk for Harry, Earl Grey for Ginny and a fluffy slice of lemon chiffon cake to share. In short order Madam Puddifoot herself ferried their drinks and cake to their table, managing to look pleasantly harried as she did. She gave the couple an especially saccharine smile- was Harry imagining her gaze lingering on his face?- before leaving them in peace.

“I’m glad we could get away by ourselves for a little while,” Ginny said as she took a sugar cube from the pink porcelain bowl on the table and plunked it into her teacup. She grinned up at him through red-gold lashes. “I feel like you’re so busy lately.”

“I know,” Harry agreed. He speared a corner of cake and brought it to his mouth, giving himself a moment to think. “I didn’t expect school to be so full-on this early. We’re all swamped.”

Harry knew he should probably feel guilty that he hadn’t put more effort into spending alone time with Ginny. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with her; she was one of his closest friends, after all, and he enjoyed her company. He simply didn’t have a lot of free time and it was difficult to make her a priority. The return to school had been more demanding than he’d expected, what with school work and detentions. The customized curriculum for eighth year students was particularly robust and his evenings were often devoted to extra required readings in addition to homework assignments.

And then there was Malfoy…he recognized that he had become preoccupied with the blonde in the last few weeks as their armistice bloomed into a legitimate friendship. He couldn’t have predicted that they’d get along so well. He was quite happy about it, though it was clear Ginny felt differently. He was enjoying their time together and if he was becoming a bit too keen, well, that was basically how it had always been. Harry was, admittedly, a bit prone to fixation where the blonde was concerned. He’d decided not to overthink it, and to try to keep Malfoy and Ginny out of each other’s way.

It was for this reason alone that Harry was glad not to talk about Malfoy during their afternoon sojourn to the tea shop. Ginny had wanted them to spend some time together and getting backed into a corner defending his friendship with Draco- again- would certainly dash that plan. He sensed that Ginny might be on the precipice of bringing him up and quickly steered the conversation in a safer direction. Though it bored him nearly to tears, Harry dutifully engaged Ginny in discussion about her and Hermione’s fashion ideas for the upcoming ball until it was time to return to the castle.

-

It was Tuesday evening and Draco was on his way to detention from the eighth year dormitory. He knew Harry could use some clarification on their potions assignment and he’d gone to get his notes so they could go over the finer points during their detention. Dinner had just ended so he wasn’t surprised to pass students coming in the opposite direction as he trotted down the stairs. He was, however, surprised to nearly run into Ginevra Weasley as he turned into the corridor of the trophy room. She was walking in the opposite direction of Draco, presumably because she had walked Harry to his detention.

Ginny’s eyes blazed when they landed on Draco. She was the last person he wanted to see ever, but especially now, when he was already running a few minutes behind. Still, he didn’t need to instigate a fight with her when he ought to be meeting Harry. 

“Sorry about that, Weasley. I didn’t see you there,” he said, the words innocuous but lightly laced with disdain. He couldn’t help himself. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’re terribly sorry,” she snarled. “You’d probably curse me if you thought Harry wouldn’t find out.”

Malfoy’s face hardened. He  _ really  _ could not stand the She-Weasel. Not even  because she was a Weasley, but because she was acrimonious and pretended not to be. She waited until she was out of Harry’s sight to take jabs at him, to goad him. She was just as underhanded as she accused him of being, shooting him dirty looks or muttering disparaging remarks under her breath whenever they crossed paths. He knew she would love nothing more than for him to lose his temper and to play into her plan but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“I have no desire to do  _ anything  _ to or with you,” Draco clarified, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. “And I wouldn’t because Harry is my friend.”

“I can’t wait until these detentions are done and Harry forgets about you,” Ginny spat, her cheeks and neck going blotchy and red. “He doesn’t need any more  _ friends  _ or people who want something from him.”

Draco felt his heart twist. How dare she? Draco was livid. Livid that she would accuse him of not genuinely caring for Harry, that she was so certain that they wouldn’t be friends after their detentions ended, that she had managed to get a rise out of him. 

The hurt and anger he felt was so unexpected that it made him want to hex her, to pinch her, to push her down the moving staircase. He wanted to say the cruelest thing he could think of, but he couldn’t. She wasn’t worth risking his friendship with Harry over. He walked away from her because it was his only choice. If he didn’t leave he might actually throttle her. 

He flexed his hands as he stalked down the hall, allowing the blood to flow back to his fingers after being clenched in fists. He was angry with Ginny for insinuating those things about him, but he was also afraid that what she said might be true. Would Harry have time for him when their detentions ended or would the spell be broken, their friendship fading until it was even less significant than their petty rivalry had been? 

Maybe he was foolish for ever thinking that their closeness could last. Sure, he and Harry had been getting along well but maybe Harry was just trying to hold up his end of the bargain they’d made with McGonagall. Harry had plenty of friends  _ and  _ a girlfriend. What did he need Malfoy for? His entire world was rife with opportunity and Malfoy had nothing to offer him. His head was suddenly a swirl of doubt. 

Harry looked up from the table as Malfoy swept into the room. The smile that the arrival of the other boy brought to his face began to fade when he saw Malfoy’s stormy expression. He wanted to ask what had happened but something told him to give the other boy a moment. He watched in mute concern as Malfoy picked up a pair of engraved goblets and smacked them down on the table across from Harry.

He pulled a rag toward him from the pile between them and Harry thought he noticed his hands trembling.

“What’s your problem?” he asked lightly.

“You’re my problem, Potter,” Malfoy snarled, the words flying from his lips too easily, the acidity of them so familiar to him. 

Harry was taken aback by the heat in Malfoy’s voice but he couldn’t think of what to say. Things had been going so well up until this point. Something must’ve spoiled his mood but if he didn’t want to say what, Harry wasn’t going to let himself be baited into an idiotic fight that would only set them back. He pushed down the urge to fire back a retort of his own, something he would have done without a second thought at the beginning of term. He would not be the one to violate their promise to McGonagall, to one another.

“Right then,” he said stiffly, getting to work on his own polishing.

The relief of pushing Potter away was painfully short lived. Malfoy began to regret his words after only a few stiff minutes in silence. Potter hadn’t done anything to him and hadn’t deserved to be snapped at. He hadn’t even gotten the fight he’d been craving. This way of doing things was very much the old Draco. He’d been doing so much better. He didn’t want to be this cruel and brittle person anymore. He didn’t want to start a fight just because he was scared and hurt.

There was a small, insecure part of him that worried that Ginny was right. Draco wanted to believe that this thing with Harry was more than a fleeting fancy, that it would last longer than their dwindling detentions. Surely he wasn't imagining that Harry genuinely liked him. The truth was that he didn’t know what their friendship would look like after that point. After all it had only just begun. Malfoy hated the feeling of anxiety that clawed at his gut but even more he hated how desperate he felt for reassurance. He didn’t like feeling so needy. It wasn’t as if Harry was walking around in a crisis over the state of their friendship.

The most frustrating part of it all was that it was Harry he most wished he could confide in. Pansy was his favorite person to vent to but he couldn’t bring this to her. Anything to do with Harry felt delicate, almost private, and he didn’t talk about it with his Slytherin cohorts. They wouldn’t understand. He wanted to explain everything to the Gryffindor and wash away all the tension he’d brought into the room but that simply wasn’t possible. He knew that he wouldn’t tell Harry about what had happened, what she’d said to him. He didn’t want to put Harry in the position of having to choose between him and Ginny, knowing that he might not like the outcome.

Eventually Malfoy got to work on his own polishing. He felt Harry’s eyes on him often, probably wondering what had gotten into him. They made some stilted conversation here and there but it wasn’t like it had been, the ease of their repartee brought to a halt. He knew he’d messed things up but felt powerless to fix it. He presented his potions notes as a sort of peace offering, which did make Harry smile, but he sensed that the relief of the detention ending was mutual.

“You coming?” Harry asked, turning back when he realized Draco was still sitting at the table, looking at his hands.

“You go ahead. I’ve got to do something first.” He sensed Harry hesitating on the threshold of the room.

“Oh, alright. I’ll see you later then.”

-

Harry had been back in the eighth year common room for nearly thirty minutes already when he noticed Malfoy enter. He was sitting with the other Gryffindors from their year and Ginny, who had already been present when he’d returned from detention, so he didn’t do anything more than track Malfoy’s progress out of the corner of his eye. He must have gone to the library because he slunk around the perimeter of the room with two books tucked under one arm. As he neared the stairs to their dormitory, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein came ambling down them and came face to face with Malfoy. 

The Slytherin tried to angle out of their way and slide past them but Terry was too quick. With a slashing motion he knocked the books Malfoy had been carrying to the floor.

“Watch where you’re going, Death Eater,” he hissed. Harry saw Malfoy roll his eyes and stoop to retrieve his books.

“Very clever, aren’t you?” he retorted quietly when he returned to his full height. By this time Harry had allowed his attention to drift entirely from the conversation of his friends. He noted the tension in Malfoy’s shoulders and the defensive way he now carried his books against his chest.

“Smarter than you, I reckon. I wasn’t stupid enough to take that mark for a murderer but I guess the rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” Boot goaded, his voice sharp and disdainful. “You were also too stupid to see you had no business coming back here. Nobody wants worthless Death Eater scum like you around.”

Harry wouldn’t have seen the wounded look flash across Malfoy’s face if he hadn’t already been watching. Of course, he had been watching Malfoy very closely. He’d seen the crumpled look pass his face, vanishing as quickly as it had come, but that was enough. He felt his blood run hot. What gave anyone the right to hurt him just because they could, because it was easy? Malfoy had swiftly turned back toward the stairs when Harry shot out of his seat on the sofa.

“Apologize. Right now,” he said, surprised by the frost in his own voice. The murmurs around the common room faded entirely, many eyes swiveling now between Harry and Terry Boot.

“You’re kidding, right?” Boot demanded, his brows drawn together in confusion. “Harry, this is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about-”

“I know  _ exactly  _ who we’re talking about, Boot. I heard the whole thing. A fight you started, by the way.” Harry’s eyes flickered to Malfoy for the briefest second. His shoulders were still hunched defensively but he’d half turned to warily survey the room from one step up. “We’re supposed to put the past behind us, remember? You owe Malfoy an apology for that supremely shitty comment.”

Terry Boot worked his jaw stubbornly. He clearly hadn’t expected things to go this way, for Harry to take up for Malfoy. 

“No. Fuck that. I can deal with the others but there’s no excuse for him. He doesn’t deserve to be here!”

Behind him Anthony Goldstein gave a tentative nod. Harry didn’t see or hear any other obvious signs of agreement from the other eighth years but he didn’t care. He knew some of them likely used to think the same thing, and maybe still did. The people who agreed probably didn’t know the first thing about what had really gone on in Harry’s life or Malfoy’s as it pertained to the war.

“He’s got every right to be here. He had his trial just like the everyone else and his name was cleared-”

“Only because you spoke up for him!” Boot fired back, voice raised. Without realizing, Harry took a menacing step forward.

“You’re god damned right I did! I don’t know how many hard choices you’ve been faced with, Boot, but I know I’ve had loads. So has Malfoy. Have you ever had to do something you didn’t want to do to protect yourself, your family? No?” Harry was louder and more incensed than he’d ever been amongst his peers. Until now, Harry had tried to keep a low profile and hadn't discussed the war with anyone aside from his closest friends- and Draco. Draco had half a mind to intervene but a selfish part of him was grateful to have someone come to his defense. Harry himself commanded the attention of the room, somehow looking bigger and more mature than he ever had before. The muscles of his arms jumped as he clenched his fists. “Did you ever speak to Voldemort, look him in the eye? You couldn’t imagine the things he could do, the damage he could inflict with _just his mind_. He was ruthless and cruel and fucking horrifying. Most of you don’t know how badly he could hurt you if he wanted to so you should count yourselves lucky. And give Malfoy a fucking break.”

On that chilling note, Harry turned and stormed out of the common room. The magic rolling off of him caused all the candles on the walls to gutter out, one of the glass sconces even shattering as he stepped through the door, leaving a few quiet gasps in his wake.

Malfoy wondered if he should go after Harry, if he even could without everyone noticing. He knew how strange it would look but Harry  _ had  _ been defending him. Before he could decide one way or another, he noticed the girl-Weasel whisper something to her brother, her expression stormy and her face creased with concern. Inexplicably, his gaze flickered to Granger, who was staring back at him with an indecipherable expression on her face. After a beat, when it was clear that no one else wished to fight with him, he strode out of the common room in pursuit of Harry, leaving the murmurs of the others behind him.

Harry wasn’t terribly hard to find, having had only a short head start. Malfoy walked down the long corridor and took a right to find him staring out one of the tall, leaded windows at the grounds below. Harry was breathing hard as he approached, one fist working at his side as the fingers of the other hand picked at the stone of the wall. He didn’t look up until Malfoy had joined him at the window. The Slytherin was taken aback by the molten intensity of his mossy eyes.

“Thank you. What you said back there...” he said softly, letting his elbow bump gently against Harry’s. Though he’d expressed his remorse and appreciation in other, subtler ways since the war and their return to school, Malfoy wasn’t sure how many times- if ever- he’d said those exact words to Harry. There was so much to be grateful for: his saving the wizarding world’s collective arse, for swooping in when the Fiendfyre threatened to consume him, for defending him at the trials and securing his freedom. And now, for speaking on his behalf to an audience of their peers, many of whom likely thought of him the same way Boot did. Malfoy didn’t know if he would ever get used to Harry’s unwavering and seemingly boundless goodness.

“Boot’s a prick,” Harry responded hotly. “You were just minding your business before he opened his stupid mouth. It wasn’t right.” Malfoy thought that, while true, there were shades of gray Harry was deliberately sidestepping. His simply being there at all was invitation enough for people like Boot to lash out at him if they wanted to. Still, he appreciated that Harry was looking out for him, especially after the way Draco had spoken to him in the trophy room.

“Listen...I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have picked that fight with you in detention,” Malfoy began, knowing already that he couldn’t be completely honest- yet. He couldn’t tell Harry how scared it made him to know that he cared for the Gryffindor so much, that he valued their friendship enough that the thought of losing it was painful.

“What was that about, anyway?” Harry still looked bothered by the confrontation in the common room but at least his posture was beginning to relax, his focus shifting to the present moment.

“I just...other things were bothering me, something someone said to me. You just happened to be there. The urge to antagonize you isn’t completely gone, I guess.” He offered an apologetic smile, steeling himself for the moment of vulnerability he knew was necessary. “There is a small but persistent part of me that has always wanted to conquer you. You’re always going to be a better person than me, more trusted and well liked. You’re unbeatable in that way but my brain still tells me to fight you sometimes, to try and get one over on you. It’s hard to deny that part of myself, though I’m trying. I want to best you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And you don’t think you infuriate me sometimes?” Harry gave a dry laugh, thinking of his own instinctual urge to quarrel with the Slytherin. “You’re unflappable. You always look perfect, always say the right thing. It’s like you always have the upper hand and I’m just a bumbling idiot. I’d give anything to see you lose control, just once.”

Malfoy couldn’t help it. One brow shot up in suggestive amusement. Too late, Harry realized the implications of what he’d said.

“Damn it, Malfoy, that’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Harry huffed in exasperation.

“I know,” the blonde purred, his mouth curving up in a triumphant grin. Potter was too easy to mess with. Maybe that was why he’d never been able to restrain himself. There was something about the blush that crept up his neck…

Despite himself, Harry started to smile, too. It was such a warm, wonderful, addictive feeling, the private mirth that came from being in on Malfoy’s jokes.

“So like I said, I’m sorry about earlier. That was misdirected anger that wasn’t meant for you.” Malfoy gestured back toward the common room from which they’d come. “And thank you for defending me back there. I probably don’t deserve that but...it means a lot.”

Harry wanted desperately to respond, to tell Malfoy that  _ of course  _ he deserved to be defended, that his remorse and legal innocence counted for something. If there were other incidents of harassment- and Harry suspected there had been based on whatever had happened to upset Malfoy before their detention- he wanted to know about them. He wanted to tell him that he would always defend his friends, but they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on stone as Ginny approached around the corner.

“That’s my cue, then,” Draco muttered, his expression morphing into an apologetic grimace. He had already begun to drift away by the time Ginny had reached them and she spared him little more than a dirty look. Harry found himself abruptly irritated at the intrusion. He pulled his eyes away from Draco’s retreating back as Ginny began to speak.

“What was that all about?” she demanded in a hushed voice, as if Harry had made an egregious error. “You scared some people, I think.”

“Good. Maybe they’ll think twice before instigating another petty fight,” he replied tensely. Ginny fixed him with a probing, accusatory look. 

“I didn’t think you’d come to his defense like that.” She phrased it as an observation but it felt much more like a judgement to Harry.

“I defended him in court, remember? I stand by all of that. Besides, I’d have done that for anyone. Terry was goading him because he could and that’s shit. I’m not going to let people kick Malfoy while he’s down and stand back so you and everyone else can have a laugh. We’re supposed to be moving forward. All of us.” He punctuated his last words with a meaningful look but she stared back resolutely, unwilling to take accountability for her part in wishing Malfoy ill.

He could feel her displeasure rolling off of her and had to resist taking a step away from her. He didn’t know what she wanted from him, what she expected him to say. He did know that he wasn’t prepared to do it, especially if it meant abandoning his friendship with Malfoy. Regardless of the tangled emotions he had for other boy, their friendship had come to mean a lot to him. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing it, not even to appease her.

Apparently he was willing to let this drive a wedge between him and Ginny. Maybe the wedge had been there all along and Malfoy was just the straw to break the camel’s back. Maybe the wedge was Harry himself.

As they stood there in angry, frigid silence, he felt a deeply concealed thought float to the surface of his mind. The truth that had been stalking him for weeks finally came into the light, so startlingly obvious that he felt his stomach drop. As he searched her familiar face for the features he knew he would not find- cool, appraising eyes; delicate pink mouth; artfully chiseled jaw- he realized who it was that he wished was walking away from him.

Their parting was uneasy. Their shared penchant for stubbornness meant that neither of them wanted to break the silence first, let alone compromise on their stances. Eventually Ginny walked away in a huff, rolling her eyes. Harry didn’t want to return to the common room where he knew his friends would be waiting with more questions and prying glances.

He let his feet carry him through the castle, moving without seeing as he slipped into a sort of contemplative trance. In his mind’s eye he pictured the mirror of Erised with him standing before it. He could see in the reflection what- who- he wanted. The relief that came with admitting the truth to himself was quickly overshadowed by worry over what to do about it. Not for the first time, Harry wondered when, if ever, his life would be simple.

When his feet carried him to the stone gargoyle outside McGonagall’s office, he felt a pang of nostalgia. Somehow this predicament seemed like one Dumbledore would’ve been able to help him with. Perhaps not the particulars, Harry thought with a blush, but the decision itself. In the time Harry had known him, Dumbledore had always done things with dignity and certainty. Harry could use a dose of certainty.

It was too late to go up to McGonagall’s office and ask to speak to Dumbledore’s portrait. He didn’t know the password, anyway. He would try and channel Dumbledore and figure this whole thing out. Dumbledore would probably tell Harry to follow his intuition, to trust himself. To choose love. After all, hadn’t that been what saved him time and again? Dumbledore’s words from their last conversation, in that blinding golden light between the realms, came back to him. Harry _had a choice_. 

He turned away from the gargoyle, taking the longest route he could think of back to the eighth year dormitory. He tried to quiet his racing mind and listen to his intuition. What was it telling him? What did he want? It had been so long since he’d asked himself that and allowed himself to answer honestly. He was always preoccupied with what other people expected of him, what his friends or the Order or anyone else would want him to do, what was best for the greater good. It was time to be selfish. Wasn’t that what he’d told Malfoy?

_ Malfoy.  _ A rush of warmth spread through him at the thought of the Slytherin. He shut his eyes and the other boy’s face materialized in his head. He wanted to see Malfoy. He wanted to sit and talk with him, laugh at his snappy comebacks even if he was the butt of the joke. He wanted a whole lot more than that, had wanted it for a while now if he was being honest. Whether he’d ever act on the desire, he couldn’t say, but he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.

It was Malfoy’s face he looked for in the halls, Malfoy’s companionship that made him feel free to be candid. Malfoy listened without making him feel judged, didn’t ply Harry with unsolicited advice they both knew he’d never take. Over a few months, without his realizing it, Malfoy had become very important to him, the person Harry wanted to tell his secrets to. The person who made him feel like himself.

That was the crux of it, then. His heart beat hard in his chest where the new knowledge bloomed. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t care for Malfoy and he couldn’t pretend he had romantic feelings for Ginny. He had to tell her the truth. 


	8. Harry Comes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think you know what happens from the title, but just in case you don't: Harry has an important realization about his sexual identity and chooses to share it with some of the people in his life. As is always the case for the Golden Boy, it doesn't go entirely smoothly but he manages to come out relatively unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexuality is such a multi-faceted, shifting thing and I regret that I needed to condense the discussion of Harry's to one chapter for the sake of advancing the plot. I hope this doesn't feel too rushed to any of you. I like to think that it is something he will continue to examine and explore for the rest of his life.

Harry Potter was gay. 

He wasn’t really surprised, once the revelation hit him properly. It felt sort of like putting on clothes that were the correct size after a lifetime of outsize hand-me-downs. He recognized that it had been the case all along, that there had been signs he hadn’t picked up on. 

There was the funny stirring he’d felt low in his belly when Oliver Wood had leaned close to him, correcting the position of his hands on his broomstick for better maneuvering. There had been the buzzing giddiness he felt when Cedric had approached him for the rare private chat, their heads bowed together, that deep, soft voice muttering to him and him alone. He’d shared an especially heated glance with one of the Durmstrang boys during the Yule Ball and had dreamed of him for three nights afterward. He’d dreamed of lots of young men he knew, come to think of it. One would have thought that the Savior could have his pick of the girls at Hogwarts. The thing he knew now was that he hadn’t ever wanted them.

It made perfect sense when he really thought about it. Harry had wondered if something was wrong with him when Ron and Neville started talking about girls they fancied and he found himself with nothing to contribute. He learned how to play along rather quickly, noting which of their classmates had nice features or pretty hair. He could admire them but had never felt the puppy love infatuation his friends seemed to, let alone anything that would prompt him to make a romantic overture. It had been an immense relief when he’d felt some stirrings for Cho but it wasn’t hard to figure out that had as much to do with her proximity to Cedric as anything else.

Ginny had been a bit different and that had probably stalled his understanding for a while. It wasn’t that he was repulsed by her; he didn’t find girls his age offensive to look at or even to touch. It helped that she had a feisty personality and a rather androgynous figure but Harry liked her as a person first and foremost. When Ginny’s hands were on him, it did feel nice, but he didn’t feel truly excited or impassioned. If anything, sometimes it felt like by trying to get in the mood to be intimate he was pushing a box into a space that wasn’t large enough to accommodate it, like if he forced it something inside might break. Their most successful encounters were ones where he shut his eyes and withdrew inside his own mind. It wasn’t as if they were connecting on a deeper level during intimate moments but he assumed that with patience, they’d be able to figure it out.

It was only since Malfoy had come properly into his life that he realized what he felt for Ginny was not romantic. Catching her eye across the room didn’t prompt a giddy thump in his chest and he wasn’t checking her out surreptitiously. His mind didn’t revisit their fleeting physical contact for days afterward. He certainly wasn’t wanking to thoughts of her.

Ginny had been a security blanket, he saw that now. She was a box checked, when she deserved to be much more than that for someone. She had represented a concrete tie to the Weasley family, a way for Harry to truly become one of them. The mere idea that things might not work out that way had made Harry so anxious that he had avoided confronting it altogether until now. Enough was enough.

There was a small part of him that wished he could be  _ normal  _ in the way that Ron and Neville were, that could forget all about this revelation and go on loving Ginny like he was supposed to. That would be easy. It would make everyone happy. Well, everyone but Harry.

The bigger part of his brain wanted that- happiness for himself. Even if he stood no chance with Malfoy, which was probably the case, he knew there was potential for him to find someone he truly connected with now that he understood what he was looking for. He carried the knowledge around like a stone in his stomach, like an albatross around his neck. 

This meant breaking up with Ginny. There was no getting around it. He knew that she should be the first one to find out the truth about him. He owed her that much, that scrap of dignity. He might get his nose broken- by Ginny or Ron- but he couldn’t go on lying to her. That’s what he was doing with each day that passed since he’d had the realization: lying. He cared for her and the rest of the Weasleys too much to let it go on. He hoped that in time she would see this was for the best. 

Harry waited for the right time, finally accepting that there wasn’t one. It was Thursday evening and a gaggle of 7th and 8th years were meandering out of the Great Hall. Harry dragged his feet, waiting for Hermione and Ginny to catch up. He watched the back of Malfoy’s retreating head with envy. He wished he could join him for some easy going companionship. Even detention would be preferable to this daunting task.

He heard Ginny’s voice behind him and turned to face her.

“Hey, have you got a second?” He wanted to sound casual and relaxed but his voice came out a little strained. A miniscule crease appeared in Ginny’s brow.

“Sure,” she said breezily. “I’ll see you later, Hermione.”

He could feel Hermione’s eyes roving his face. He cast her an apologetic look, all the warning he was able to give her, before leading Ginny away. They walked down the same corridor they’d traveled weeks before, to the same alcove. The thought of Malfoy watching from the corner came to him unbidden. It was too bad that the other boy wasn’t with them now. Harry could use a dose of his confidence.

“Are you alright, Harry? You’ve gone pale,” she asked, facing him head on in the moonlight.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” he began. His gut churned traitorously and he took a shaky breath. “I’ve been trying to find the best way but days were going by and I didn’t want to keep it to myself because you deserve to know. I don’t want you to be upset but obviously I’ll understand if you are. It’s not-”

“Harry, please. Spit it out,” she said, a shrill edge to her voice. When Harry looked up he could see barely restrained panic in her face. He’d gotten off to a shite start. Wonderful. He tried to collect himself. 

“Sorry, let me start again.” He considered taking her hand but the gesture felt inauthentic. Ginny would always be his friend but he wasn’t in love with her. There was no softening the blow for her. If she didn’t already know by now then she would be surprised by his confession. “I’ve figured something out about myself that you need to know. It means I can’t date you anymore. I won’t be dating any girls any more.”

“What are you saying?” The color was rising in her cheeks. Harry could see it even in the low light.

“I’m saying that I’m gay, Ginny. I like blokes.” It was the first time he’d said the words out loud and he was mildly surprised that no thunder clapped overhead when they left his mouth. The ground didn’t shake or crack open either. Ginny’s mouth simply settled into a hard line. He thought maybe she might cry. “It’s not personal, I hope you know that. You’re smart and brave and beautiful. I’m just-”

“Not attracted to me,” she supplied helpfully, if bitterly. “Were you ever?”

Harry had to think about that. He had been excited to be with Ginny in the beginning, though they’d had so little time alone together that he hadn’t been able to dwell on the physical aspect of their relationship for long. He thought she was funny and a great flyer. Her personality burned bold and bright, something he admired about her. They got along well. It would have been so convenient to be with her, to solidify his position in the Weasley family. He had always assumed that it would work out until they actually had a chance to be a real couple. Then Harry had frozen up or said the wrong thing or retreated inside himself until he learned how to be with Ginny in a way that was tolerable. He knew Ginny had given him butterflies at some point but now he couldn’t say when or why.

“So no,” she said, her voice hard.

“I didn’t say that,” Harry protested.

“You didn’t say anything!” she retorted, her voice hard but wobbly.

“Honestly, I think I’ve been confused for a long time. We spent so much time apart that I didn’t have to think about that stuff. When the war was over and we got together properly, I assumed I just needed more time to adjust to having a girlfriend. I thought if I just stuck it out, things would start to feel like I thought they were supposed to.”

“I waited for you!” Ginny cried, turning on her heel and striding away before doubling back. “I thought we’d be together forever! That was the plan!”

“You think I don’t know that, Ginny? That you and everyone else had our lives- my life- planned out for me? It’s not easy to disappoint everyone, you know. To disappoint you.” He didn’t mean to raise his voice. He rubbed at his scar in frustration, an old habit he’d failed to break. “I can’t make myself different, even if I wanted to.”

“Are you sure? Is there something I should have done, or should do?” She sounded suddenly desperate and Harry knew that her brain was probably looking for excuses and solutions as she grappled with what he was telling her. He wished she wouldn’t as it only made it more painful for both of them. 

“I’m sure. On a personal level I like you so much but it’s become pretty clear that I’m attracted to men and probably always have been. If I thought there was a chance, I’d tell you,” he promised. Ginny had dropped her head and he thought she might be properly crying now. He wished he could have done this without hurting her, but of course there was no way. 

“Ginny,” he began softly. He reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off. “Listen, you know I’ll always love you. You’re always going to be important to me-”

“Don’t,” she sobbed. Her face was a mess of anger, pain and disappointment and her cheeks were wet with tears. “Just don’t.”

She stepped away, shaking her head, and left him standing in the alcove with nothing but his thoughts. He fell back against the cool stone and let out a bone-deep sigh.

It could have gone worse but it also could have gone better. He wished he’d remembered to ask Ginny not to tell anyone, but he supposed it was out of his control now. He had no say over what Ginny said or did now. He would have to face whatever consequences came his way after tonight. At least it was over.

-

Pansy had waited until she was alone with Draco to wheedle him, though he’d sensed it coming for the past two days. They were in an empty classroom doing some extra practicing for Charms. The Gouging Spell in particular was giving Pansy a bit of trouble. Draco had used a modified version for digging rows in the garden so mastering it was no issue.

“You’re not focusing,” he tutted, pulling her arm straight and using his hands to swivel her head toward the wall they were using. Draco had already used the spell to neatly dig his first and last initial out of the stone wall. Pansy’s spells had all rebounded or dispersed, leaving scattered pockmarks in the rock. “Channel it into one continuous flow.”

“ _ Defodio _ ,” she gritted out, slashing her wand up, across and up again. There was a weak arc of light that left a small but complete crater in the wall opposite her. 

“A definite improvement,” Draco observed. “Now just do it that way again and you’ll be able to direct the movement to target a specific area.”

“I am going to die of boredom if I do this any longer,” she insisted, spinning around and sliding onto an abandoned desk. Draco rolled his eyes. She’d performed the bloody spell  _ once  _ in a mediocre fashion and was already done? It was a good thing she planned to marry rich.

“You have a terribly short attention span,” he sniffed. He aimed a Mending Charm at the wall, watching in satisfaction as the rubble reincorporated itself and the stone became whole once more.

“Only for things that don’t interest me,” she agreed. Her eyes took on a mischievous sheen as she pinned Draco with a pointed look. “Now, what  _ does _ interest me is the rather inspiring defense of ickle Draco by one golden Gryffindor...in front of the entire common room. Any insight on that, o blonde one?”

“Here we go. I knew you were waiting to bring this up!”

“Um, yeah, because that was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen and I watched Theo try to fit a quaffle in his mouth when he was drunk two summers ago.” She muffled a laugh as she presumably recalled the memory and then turned her focus back to Draco, who was twirling his wand between his fingers. “So what was that all about?”  
“You know Potter. He’s got a hero complex,” Draco said dismissively. He felt a little bad for that comment. Harry _did_ have a thing about saving people, whether he realized it or not, but Draco knew that what had happened in the common room had been more than his usual brand of valor. From the outside, the intensity of Harry’s response would have looked very strange indeed, given their history. “He always stands up for the underdog. It’s his thing.”

“You know he was shouting, right? He looked about ready to punch Boot in the face. He put half the lights out when he left the room, for Salazar’s sake!” she said, raising her eyebrows for emphasis.

“Yes, I was there,” he replied coolly. It had been an intimidating display but Draco wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

“He did that  _ for you _ .” She crossed her arms with finality. Draco felt a squirm of nervous pleasure in his belly at her words but he hoped it didn’t show on his face.  _ Don’t you dare fucking blush right now _ , his inner voice hissed.

“I think you’re reading too much into it,” he assured her with a furtive lick of his lips. Pansy’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t think so. I think you’re secretly BFFs with the Saviour and that’s why he got so pissed off. I saw you follow him out, after all.” She looked triumphant at her own assessment. So the kneazle was out of the bag about their truce, he supposed. It  _ had _ been quite a scene. He wasn’t going to divulge anything about their closeness to Pansy and risk jeopardizing it, though.

“I did need to thank him for defending me, Pansy. I wasn’t raised by ghouls,” he scoffed. He pocketed his wand, more than ready to head hack to the common room and put a stop to his friend’s prying. “Potter and I have agreed to put the past behind us but he’s hardly my personal bodyguard. He just doesn’t do anything by half measures. You know Gryffindors…”

“If you say so,” she sighed, hopping off the desk as he headed for the door. “I’m not sure you’re giving me the whole picture. You know, there used to be a time when you told me everything!”

_ Not anymore _ , he thought to himself.

-

Harry hadn’t expected to sleep so soundly after the tumult of the previous night but he awoke feeling more rested than he had in days. He attributed that in part to the fact that he’d overslept. The dormitory was empty, the other boys having departed already for breakfast. He heard the stirrings of other students in the common room but from the sound of it, there were only a few of them. He scrambled out of bed and into the bathroom where he took a leak and splashed a little water on his face. That would have to do for now, he thought, pulling jeans and a t-shirt from his trunk and tugging them on. He shrugged on his robes, leaving them unfastened for the time being and shoved his feet into shoes. He heaved his school bag over his shoulder and jogged down the stairs. He would still have a little time left to eat before class if he went quickly.

He was trotting down the stairs when he stopped dead in his tracks, arrested by the sight of the ginger haired girl walking up in the opposite direction. Ginny looked up then and her expression clouded over.  _ Well, shit. _ Harry slowly descended the stairs but Ginny drifted to the far side of the staircase in an obvious attempt to avoid him. Harry darted in front of her.

“Hang on,” he pleaded, catching her arm. She shook him off roughly, giving him a warning scowl. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Are you alright?”

Her face was a little puffy, her eyes pink-rimmed. The set of her shoulders was hard and defensive. Harry knew he was the last person she wanted to see. Frankly, he didn’t really want to see her either at the moment. He’d prefer it if they could stay on opposite sides of the castle for the time being. Now that she was here, he needed to ask her something.

“I’ll live,” she said frostily. “Can I go?”

“Sure, of course. Just...you’re the first person to know about, well, you know. I know it’s a lot to ask but could you keep that to yourself?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your  _ little secret _ ,” she hissed, her eyes narrowed in rage. “Just get out of my way.”

Harry stepped back to let her pass, heaving a sigh of relief once she was out of earshot. He had hoped Ginny wouldn’t be quite so angry but at least she hadn’t told Ron and Hermione. He knew it was only a matter of hours before he had to explain himself but he’d take all the time he could get.

Harry knew that time was of the essence; he needed to speak to his best friends and tell them the truth before they heard it from Ginny. She’d said she wouldn’t tell- and Harry did believe her- but Ron was her brother. When he learned of their breakup he’d want to know the reason. Harry wouldn’t fault Ginny for being honest with family.

The time to talk to Ron and Hermione arrived that evening after dinner. He had passed them a note during their last class asking them to meet him in the astronomy tower after leaving the Great Hall. It would be better if they had some privacy, especially now that they didn’t live exclusively with the Gryffindors, who were used to their secret huddles. Harry had picked at his food and doggedly maintained a conversation with Neville until it was time to go. He had felt Hermione’s questioning eyes on him throughout the day and all through the meal. Unable to wait any longer, he’d ducked out during dessert to get a head start to the tower.

He’d been standing at the railing overlooking the grounds for only a few minutes when his friends appeared. He grinned at them sheepishly.

“Everything alright, mate?” Ron asked, his convivial tone tinged with concern.

“Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you guys about something without an audience.” Harry gestured to the castle wall. “Can we sit?”

They settled into a triangular formation on the flagstones, Harry with his back to the wall and Hermione and Ron facing him. He was grateful when she cast a fresh warming charm over them. He was too distracted by nerves and his own had been sputtering out.

He took a deep breath, wanting to improve on last night’s mangled delivery with Ginny. He wasn’t exactly  _ afraid _ to tell his friends, but there would always be a line of demarcation between this moment and the next. A before and an after. He hoped things wouldn’t change too much.

“So there’s something you should know about me,” he began. He saw Ron’s furrowed brow telegraph his thoughts. What could there possibly be to know that he hadn’t learned in the last eight years? “I guess on some level I must have known but I’ve only just figured it out. It might change the way you feel about me but I really hope it won’t.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell us,” Hermione said gravely. Ron nodded his agreement.

“So the thing is...I’m not straight. I think I wanted to be or I thought I  _ should _ be but it just didn’t seem to take. I thought it was a matter of finding the right girl but it turns out it’s not.”

Harry couldn’t miss the look of confusion on Ron’s face as his friend recalibrated.

“So what about my sister?” he asked stiffly.

“I told Ginny first, last night. Obviously we can’t be together.” He met Hermione’s eyes and she gave him what was meant to be a sympathetic smile. 

“That’s why you pulled her aside,” she said as comprehension dawned. “How did that go? Are you alright?”

Ron’s eyes narrowed slightly at the question. Harry could understand that he was probably more concerned about his little sister’s wellbeing at the moment.

“Um...it went ok? She’s the first person I ever told so it probably wasn’t very smooth. I tried to explain how much I care about her. Still, I think she’s pretty angry at me.” Harry sighed heavily and scrubbed at his face. “I didn’t want to upset anybody.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. This is a very important realization for you. Of course you didn’t decide to come out with the intention of hurting her,” Hermione said firmly. “There’s going to be an adjustment period but of course we still love and support you.”

“You’re sure?” Ron interjected.  _ What was it with these Weasleys?  _ “D’you think it could be a phase? Like you kiss a bloke and get it out of your system? Or maybe you’re bisexual. You’ve never been with a guy- wait, have you?”

“Ron!” Hermione admonished, for once in the conversation looking properly flustered. “I think Harry probably knows what he’s talking about. It’s  _ his _ sexual orientation. We can’t interrogate him.”

“I’m sorry! This just all feels so sudden. I didn’t know how much you’d thought about it. We discuss everything else, why not this?” Ron’s voice sounded strained but to his credit he was keeping his voice down. Harry understood what Ron was saying but the fact remained that this was not some plan Harry was hatching that he wanted their advice on.

“If it feels sudden it’s because it only just clicked into place for me the other night. I realized what I should’ve seen all along. I told you right away because I thought you needed to know.” Harry was trying very hard not to become defensive. While he was reconciling feelings and thoughts he’d been experiencing his whole life, Ron apparently had had no inkling.

“So you only like blokes?” the redhead asked warily.

“I only like blokes,” Harry parroted back. There was a tense moment of silence wherein Ron simply nodded, lips pressed together.

“Ok,” he said at last. “Right. Thank you for telling me. I’m going to go take a walk.”

“Wait-” Hermione said anxiously as Ron pushed to his feet. Harry caught her eye and shook his head. She let her outstretched hand fall to her lap.

“I’ll see you guys in a bit,” Ron said quietly. He turned and disappeared down the tower’s winding staircase, leaving his two best friends alone.

Harry let his head fall back against the stones with a muted groan. At least it was over. He’d told them. He felt Hermione shift so that she was next to him.

“It’s going to be ok,” she said, leaning against him. “You know how Ron is. He goes away but he always comes back.”

Harry nodded, recalling their time spent alone during the hunt for horcruxes. This didn’t feel like that same abandonment but Harry couldn’t deny that he’d have preferred some words of reassurance from his best friend.

“I didn’t want this to change things between us but I’m afraid it will,” Harry said. He was surprised to hear his own voice shake with suppressed emotion, a mixture of relief and hurt. “I thought he’d always have my back, no matter what. But what if he doesn’t?”

Harry thought the world of the Weasley family. They were good people, open hearted and accepting. Molly and Arthur hadn’t raised any bigots. Still, Ron seemed so unsettled by what Harry had told them. 

“Oh, Harry, I hope you know this isn’t an issue of homophobia! I know Ron made a mess of things just now but I don’t think that’s why,” Hermione insisted.

“I want to believe that. He just seems angry at me and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t change who I am.”

Hermione threaded their fingers together and squeezed.

“I don’t think that’s it. Truly, I don’t. I think Ron is just having to adjust his view of the future with you in a different role. You’d think he’d be sick of siblings with all the ones he has but I really do think he wanted you to be his brother, officially. This just means that even though you’ll always be family, you won’t be Ginny’s husband.” He looked over at her and she gave him her most reassuring smile. “And there’s nothing wrong with that! Even Ron will see that. He’s just not as quick on his feet with these sorts of things. He feels very deeply but it takes a little longer for him to wrap his head around things than it does for you or me.”

If anyone understood Ron’s emotional landscape, it was his own girlfriend. Harry knew that Hermione was probably right, that with time things would smooth over with Ron. It still made him uneasy to have tension between them but he supposed he owed it to his friend to give him time to sort his head out. After all, what Hermione had said made sense. Even Harry had grieved somewhat for the loss of the possibility of marrying into the Weasley family. Ron was probably feeling sad about that, too, but Harry being gay didn’t have to change anything about their bond. He hoped that once the dust settled and Ginny moved on, Ron would be reassured.

Harry let his head fall to Hermione’s shoulder and she shifted so that her arm was tight around his shoulders. There was comfort in her embrace and he allowed himself a moment of relief. 

“I am so proud of you, Harry. I can’t imagine how nerve wracking that must have been. Thanks for trusting us with that.” Hermione’s voice was thin and watery and Harry laughed into her bushy hair.

“Thanks Hermione, but after robbing a bank and hijacking a dragon with you guys, the trust thing is pretty much a no-brainer.” She squeezed him again and he smiled, though she couldn’t see it. 

He chose to believe his friend when she said that everything would be alright. He did trust her, after all. He’d managed to come out to three of the most important people in his life and while they’d certainly hit some speed bumps, nothing truly terrible had happened. There was only one more opinion he was worried about.

-

The weekend couldn’t have come at a better time. Not having to be in classes meant that Harry could give Ron the space he needed while having plenty of time to think himself. Ron had given him a firm hug when he returned from the astronomy tower that Friday night, which had been a small reassurance, but things were stilted between them. Harry was trying to be patient and distracted himself with other things.

He came out to Neville and Luna on Saturday on a walk around the Black Lake. He wasn’t going to tell all of his friends right away- the first two times had been pretty emotionally exhausting- but he wanted to keep them in the loop as they had grown very close during and after the war. He had a hunch that they’d be very supportive and he was right; they practically dogpiled him the moment the words left his mouth.

“Guys, I can’t breath!” Harry wheezed happily.

“Sorry, Harry!” Neville hastily disengaged from the hug and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

“Oh, me too, Harry! How liberating!” Luna agreed in her sweet, breezy voice. “I hope you know the Quibbler stands behind you.”

Harry felt their love and acceptance winding around him like a cloak and was immensely grateful for it. He had expected Luna’s response but quiet, gentle Neville’s enthusiasm was a bit more surprising. He felt lucky to have such great friends.

Harry had considered talking to Malfoy over the weekend but there hadn’t been a good time to get him alone, aside from waking him up in the middle of the night, which would have been insane. Still, he found himself thinking about the blonde when he was alone. Rather a lot.

It was as if his coming out had opened a mental floodgate to all the thoughts he’d been trying to suppress about Malfoy. He found himself imagining the blonde in a variety of inappropriate scenarios, often when he was supposed to be focused on other things, like Hermione’s corrections to his homework. He envisioned pale, firm hands on his wrists, his shoulders, grinding his hips against Malfoy’s. When he shut his eyes he could practically see Malfoy sinking to his knees with a wicked grin between two parked cars. Nevermind that Malfoy has spent virtually no time in the muggle word, let alone a car park. That he’d never in a million years find himself unbuckling Harry’s belt and slipping down his trousers was also, understandably, beside the point.

He was overwhelmed and frankly embarrassed. He knew he shouldn’t be objectifying his friend like this but it was hard to get a hold on it. The intensity of his attraction made him think he may have been misinterpreting it for a long time. He tried to rein it in, especially considering how unlikely it was that the feeling was mutual. It couldn’t be.

-

Come Tuesday evening, Harry found himself dithering around in detention, unable to focus on the alphabetization of Filch’s disciplinary files for longer than a few minutes at a time. Finally Draco huffed elaborately and swivelled in his seat.

“What in Merlin’s name has gotten into you? You’re fidgeting around like an Azkaban escapee,” he quipped. Harry’s cheeks colored slightly and he pointedly stopped drumming his fingers.

“Sorry.” He wanted to tell Malfoy about Ginny, about the whole conversation and his reasoning behind it. He just wasn’t sure how much he should divulge. The blonde boy was eyeing him expectantly, one eyebrow cocked. It was now or never. “I broke up with Ginny.”

“Oh.” Malfoy’s delicate pink mouth formed a perfect circle of surprise. He felt a flutter in his chest at Potter’s admission but carefully tamped it back down. “Er, I’m sorry.” It came out as a tentative question.

“S’alright. I’m quite relieved, to be honest. It’s just been a touchy few days.”

“Is W- Is Ron taking it alright?”

Harry smiled at Malfoy’s deliberate use of Ron’s first name, touched by the consideration it showed. He had been trying to be cordial to and about Ron and Hermione, for Harry’s sake.

“He’s not exactly pleased,” Harry shrugged. “He probably still wishes we would get married. Hermione says she thinks he’ll work through it.”

“Ah, well...not everyone gets the fairytale ending, I suppose,” Malfoy said, his mind spinning. He wondered if it would be considered prying to ask what prompted the breakup. Harry had been the one to broach the topic, after all.

“I’m just trying not to beat myself up about hurting her,” Harry continued. He flipped absentmindedly through a stack of papers. “But I had to be honest with her and with myself. I can’t live a lie just to make someone else happy.”

Malfoy didn’t know what to make of that. He thought back to Harry’s comments in Honeydukes, which at the time seemed more to do with Madam Puddifoot’s than with Ginny. Had things been that bad between them? He couldn’t resist asking a follow up question.

“Living a lie?”

Harry’s cheeks colored a bright scarlet and he cleared his throat nervously. He felt compelled to be honest with Malfoy, even found that he liked telling him things. He knew that Malfoy’s own tastes were varied so it stood to reason that he could be trusted with the information. Still, this was a major confession for him. Before he could spend too much time trying to anticipate Malfoy’s reaction, Harry decided to come out with it.

“I couldn’t be with Ginny because I’m gay,” he blurted.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, during which time Harry thought his ears might actually be on fire.

“Oh,” Malfoy said finally. “I thought it might be something a bit more scandalous than that.”

Harry hazarded a glance at Malfoy and saw with tremendous relief that he was not horrified or flabbergasted. In fact he looked...smug? Harry couldn’t quite decipher what the expression on the blonde’s face meant but he knew it was generally good.

“I think it’s pretty scandalous. Or it will be when it gets out. Ginny said she wouldn’t tell anyone but it’s only a matter of time until someone finds out and then the whole school will know. The whole world.”

“You’ve dealt with worse,” Malfoy said sensibly. He didn’t need to rehash the past wherein The Prophet had the whole world thinking he was insane; Harry remembered. “I think, as the saviour, your reputation can take a small hit.”

Harry was surprised to feel a sense of relief at Malfoy’s words. The Slytherin had a point. While he didn’t think himself anything special- actually, he thought himself an incredibly unlucky bastard in the prophecy department- he knew he’d never been held in higher esteem than he was after defeating Voldemort.

“You know, I don’t hate the idea of tarnishing my reputation,” Harry admitted, rolling his shoulders to let the tension out of them. He glanced at Malfoy again from under his lashes. “I really don’t care what people think of me anymore. I just want to do what makes me happy.”

“Spoken like a true Slytherin,” Malfoy said, grinning. “The sorting hat might’ve been wrong about you after all.”

“I nearly  _ was  _ put in Slytherin. Those dungeon rooms are so awful though…”

“So superficial,” Malfoy chided with a playful curl to his lips.”Speaking of which, who’s next? The world will be dying to know who it is you fancy now.”

Harry blushed deeply and gave a nervous chuckle as he shifted in his chair. Malfoy couldn’t deny that the bashful display was endearing. Adorable, even. He knew Harry probably needed time before he was ready for another relationship but wheedling him was easier than allowing himself to foolishly hope…

“I don’t know. I’m still getting used to it myself. Maybe we should hold auditions,” Harry suggested and they both snorted laughing.

“I would like box seats to that spectacle,” Malfoy chortled.

“I don’t even know how many gay guys there are here-”

“Enough.” Harry raised his eyebrows at Malfoy in surprised curiosity. “What? I told you, I’m an equal opportunist.”

“And also a slag, apparently,” Harry quipped, prompting Malfoy to pick up a thick file and doff him over the head with it. There was no point trying to keep a straight face. Once Harry started laughing, Malfoy followed. It felt tremendously good to laugh and to be so candid. To have a friend, even if that was all they’d ever be. 

“And so I shall make you in mine own image,” Malfoy said haughtily, waving a hand over Harry when they’d regained their composure. “I’ll make you a list of the eligible bachelors to sample as you like.”

“Merlin, that sounds intimidating.” Harry leaned back in a more relaxed position. He felt a little coal of envy burning inside of him at the thought of Malfoy being with anyone in the school, anyone at all, but he put it in the back of his mind.

Something about Potter’s response struck Malfoy as odd. Wouldn’t he be eager to fraternize with the available boys at school? Had he ever even been with another boy before? Malfoy knew he was being positively nosy now but he couldn’t in good conscience send Harry to the wolves with no guidance, could he?

He wanted desperately to ask, and he would, but only when the time was right. He understood the magnitude and significance of Harry’s confession. He suspected that he was one of the few people who Harry had told and he wanted to tread carefully.

“You’ll do brilliantly,” Malfoy reassured him, smiling indulgently. “You always do.”

-

Draco arrived early to arithmancy on a chilly morning. The classroom was half full of quietly chattering students waiting for the professor to arrive. He chose a seat in the only row without other inhabitants, which happened to be situated behind Hermione Granger. 

She craned her neck, watching over her shoulder as Draco sat down and laid out his parchment, quill and ink.

“Hello, Malfoy.” she said experimentally, her tone just on the pleasant side of neutral.

“Granger,” he replied with a cordial nod. She half turned in her seat to look at him properly.

“You’re nearly done with your detentions,” she observed. She was correct. The reality of it gave him an anxious ache in his stomach. “They seem to be going well for you two.”

Malfoy felt his heart trip up and guessed that his color was rising. 

“Has Potter been gossipping about me?” He knew his tone was a bit shy of the nonchalance he’d been aiming for. Hermione gave him an inscrutable look.

“You should know that Harry is exceedingly loyal,” she said impassively. “He wouldn’t betray your confidence, if that’s what you mean. He’s been rather tight lipped about the whole thing, actually. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two might actually be having fun.”

Relief ebbed through him. He should never have doubted that speccy Gryffindor.

“Well, we certainly can’t allow that,” he admonished even as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Hermione seemed to echo his amusement in the glint of her eyes. She gave him an approving look before turning to face the front of the room where Professor Vector was starting class.

-

Detentions would be wrapping up soon as October drew to a close. The castle was feeling draftier by the day and already the nights were growing longer. The eighth years had more work than ever, their knees practically buckling under the mountains of homework they were assigned weekly. Harry and Draco were studying together in the private room they’d booked but Draco was distracted, staring out the window and dreaming of Christmas holidays.

“How long until Christmas, again?” he mumbled, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration essay and pushed his glasses up his nose with an ink-stained hand.

“Halloween’s still a week away,” Harry reminded him. “Bored of school already? That’s usually my line.”

Malfoy grinned at him, flopping back in his seat. “I guess I’m just tired. We’ve been doing an awful lot of work lately, more than even the seventh years. I’m ready for a break.” He had a thought then. “Say, are you going to be staying at Weasley’s this year?”

Harry pushed his notes away, always eager for an excuse to skive off, and let his chin come to rest in his hands.

“Nope,” he said, rather glumly. He shoved his fingers beneath his glasses to rub at his suddenly tired eyes. “Things are still a little strained with Ron and Ginny looks ready to tear my head off whenever she sees me. I’ve decided it’s not the place for me this year.”

Draco hummed sympathetically, worrying the corner of his mouth between his teeth. Though he was no great fan of the Weasleys, he knew as well as anyone that they were his de facto family. What would the golden boy do for Christmas if not join them?

“What about Granger?” he asked.

“She’s spending Christmas with her parents. They finally recovered all of their memories so she’s anxious to see them.” Here, Malfoy nodded. Harry had explained what Hermione had done to protect them during the war on one of their flying sessions. “She’ll probably go to the Burrough for New Years, though.”

“Where does that leave you?” Draco wondered aloud, frowning. Weasley and Granger were his two best friends. Sure, Harry had others, but would he want to spend the holidays with Neville or Luna? Draco couldn’t picture it.

“Here, I guess,” Harry replied with an exaggerated shrug. He slumped further down in his seat and pulled his tie out of his pocket, running the maroon and gold striped material through his fingers. 

“Seriously?” Draco hadn’t meant to sound so judgemental. There was usually a small group of students and faculty staying in the castle over the Christmas holidays so it wasn’t as if Harry would be completely alone. Still, it didn’t seem particularly festive for the saviour of the wizarding world to spend his first holiday after the war with nobody to celebrate with.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve stayed before.” Harry grinned up at him, green eyes twinkling in a way that absolutely disarmed him and made him wonder if his concern was misplaced. “I don’t have to fight Ron for portions at meals, for one thing. It’s nice to have the dorms to myself, too. I get the best chairs and can hog the fire. And I won’t have to listen to Seamus wanking at all hours of the night.”

Draco snorted and the corners of his mouth twisted into a smirk. Beneath the table he knocked Harry’s foot with his own. 

“He’s not the only one who could benefit from a refresher on silencing charms,” Draco teased, laughing harder when Harry’s cheeks blazed red.

“Oh, fuck off, Malfoy,” Harry shot back, answering Draco’s kick with one of his own. “You’ve never heard me!”  _ At least I hope not _ , he thought to himself. 

“I’m just saying you should do the decent thing and wank in the shower like the rest of us.” The visual was all too vivid for Harry. He knew if he tried he’d be able to supplement images from his memory of Malfoy beneath the hot shower spray with scenes from his imagination. He quickly distracted himself by pelting his tie at Malfoy, who ducked and nearly fell out of his chair.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Harry scoffed. His whole body felt flushed beneath his robes but he was determined not to show it. “Anyway, I’ll live through another Christmas at the castle. You could always be a good friend and offer to stay.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to sigh heavily and slump down in his chair, the smile fading from his lips.

“Honestly, I thought about staying myself for a while,” he admitted, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

“You should! We can raid the kitchen and have the whole quidditch pitch to ourselves,” Harry said, giddy at the thought of having Malfoy keep him company for the holiday. The blonde shook his head solemnly.

“I can’t. I have to go back, to learn how to live there, at least sometimes. This summer was so strange but if I don’t go back now and face it I might not be brave enough to do it again.” Draco and Narcissa had been barred from the Manor during the trials while the grounds, house and everything inside were inspected as part of the investigations. He had told Harry that they’d only been allowed to resume their residence there for the last few weeks of summer.

“Hey,” Harry protested gently, this time using his own foot to nudge Malfoy’s. “You’ll be fine. We came back here after everything that happened, didn’t we? You’re braver than you give yourself credit for. Besides, your mum’ll be glad to have you home for Christmas.”

Draco lifted his gaze from his hands which were resting in his lap. His silver eyes met Harry’s and after a moment he gave the Gryffindor a shy smile. 

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Course I am,” the Gryffindor boasted, doing his best approximation of a smarmy Gilderoy Lockhart smile. It always made Draco laugh. “You’ll just have to promise to write to me while you’re gone.”

“Every single day,” Draco promised, unable to keep the fondness from his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about Ron's less than accepting reaction! This is not meant to be Ron-bashing at all which is why I haven't tagged it as such. For what it's worth, I agree with Hermione's assessment of Ron in that he doesn't care that Harry's gay so much as that he won't be his brother in law some day. While Ron doesn't actually "have the emotional range of a teaspoon" I like to think that he does take a little longer to process and articulate his feelings. We are still Team Ron. Ginny...I mean you'll see.


	9. The Last Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a celebration of their completed punishments, tensions between Harry and Draco come to a boiling point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I recognize that it has been way too long since chapter 8 went up and I can only apologize. With the whole quarantine thing and everything that followed, I just couldn't get my head together to finish the last bit of editing to this chapter. But it's election night here in the States and everything is awful so I decided tonight was the ideal time to just get it done! I really hope you enjoy this installment. Chapter 10 is giving me some trouble but here's hoping for another burst of inspiration to get it all tied up. Thanks as always for reading <3

There was a buzz beginning to build in the castle as Halloween approached. The Great Hall swarmed with owls each morning and when Harry looked out the windows toward Hogsmeade, he sometimes saw thestrals pulling carts up to the school. They were laden with packages too heavy to be carried by owl, gowns and dress robes that students had ordered for the ball, his own and Ron’s among them. Hagrid’s pumpkin patch was overflowing with massive, vibrant gourds. Nearly Headless Nick surmised that a giant jack-o-lantern was going to be carved and levitated above the dance floor while the Fat Friar was adamant that it was destined to be turned into the biggest pumpkin pastie the school had ever seen.

Harry was happy to let the budding excitement whip up around him, grateful that he and Ginny were not the talk of the school- at least not yet. She was avoiding him still, and Ron seemed to slowly be coming to terms with things. For the moment the situation seemed to be under control, the fact of the breakup contained to the core group of Gryffindors, Luna and Malfoy.

The rest of his friends were being great, checking in on him and being very supportive, but Harry wished that he and Draco had more time to see one another during the week. When he wasn’t buried under textbooks and rolls of parchment like the rest of them, the Slytherin was working on Charms with Pansy or volunteering with Slughorn’s younger students for Potions tutoring. There hadn’t been time for any more flying or late night strolls around the castle since before the confrontation with Terry Boot in the common room. He could appreciate that Draco had a life outside of detention but he wanted to see him more than in passing in their dormitory- and in his fantasies.

He supposed he could just come out and  _ say _ that- minus the fantasy bit, obviously- but something held Harry back. He didn’t want to spook the Slytherin by coming across too eager now that they’d finally established a sense of trust. They were friends, sure, but Malfoy was still the byproduct of a repressive upbringing. His moods could be hard to read at times and Harry noticed that he reverted back to stoicism whenever he was uncomfortable or uncertain. Too much emotion or enthusiasm at once might overwhelm him. Harry really didn’t want to scare him off now because...he was pretty sure he liked the git. As in  _ liked him  _ liked him. Perhaps that should have been obvious to him before now but he was still untangling the ball of emotions he felt for the posh blonde. 

He cared about him and had known that for some time. The physical attraction had also become increasingly apparent but now Harry realized that he was quite possibly in over his head with feelings that were much more than platonic. Whether or not they were mutual, Harry had absolutely no clue. This was one area wherein Harry’s instincts were woefully lacking. He couldn’t exactly talk to Hermione about it, though the blonde did come up in conversation.

“You must be relieved that your detentions are ending.” They’d been reshelving their reference books in the library when Hermione said it, her tone suspiciously light.

“Sure, I guess so,” Harry agreed with a shrug. “I don’t know which I hate more, polishing or sorting files alphabetically.”

“Did you get much of either done these past few weeks?”

He swiveled to look at her, leaving his book to float to its designated shelf unsupervised.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He could see the threat of a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“It just seems like things with you and Malfoy have been going well. I assumed that meant you weren’t exactly attentive to the work you were supposed to be doing,” she said breezily, turning to pick up the last stack of books from their table. Harry trailed after her as she strode toward the Arithmancy section.

“I mean...yeah. We’re getting on well,” he admitted, feeling uneasy. Was she going to be angry? She had encouraged him to settle his feud with Malfoy at the beginning of the year, but he assumed that had been because she wanted him to stay out of trouble for once.

“I thought as much, after the Terry Boot incident. I think you were right to stand up for him, by the way.” She slid the last volume into its slot, standing on tiptoe.

“Really?” When neither Ron nor Hermione brought up the confrontation with him, he assumed they were begrudgingly tolerating his defense of the Slytherin on principle alone, or that they were unhappy about it but wanted to avoid a fight. Harry acknowledged that he’d gotten pretty riled up that night. Hermione spun to face him, hands on her hips.

“Of course! He’s not my favorite person but Malfoy was minding his own business. What Terry said to him was so ugly!” Her mouth twisted in distaste as she recalled their fellow Gryffindor’s cruel comments. “I may not trust Malfoy, but I trust you, Harry. If you felt that strongly about defending him, it must be with good reason. I hope it works out.”

He was struck by the cryptic nature of that last comment. She hoped  _ what _ worked out? Their friendship? He hoped so too. He wasn’t going to second-guess her support, however tentative it may be.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said warmly, slinging an arm over her shoulder as they went back to their table to gather their things. “He’s...not who I thought he was. In a good way.”

“Thank Godric for that!” she laughed, and Harry joined in, yet again finding himself grateful to have her in his corner.

-

Draco felt a gloomy tug of anxiety in his stomach as Tuesday arrived but it was paradoxically mingled with relief. He and Harry would have their last detention together that very evening. Completing them without bloodshed or loss of limb had seemed impossible on that first evening back in McGonagall’s office and yet they’d managed it, or almost. Oh, how life had changed in the intervening weeks. Here he was, sad to see their punishment drawing to an end. He laughed at the thought as he fastened his robes. All this time talking about feelings with Potter was turning him into a bloody Hufflepuff.

He and Potter had accomplished what they’d set out to do and then some. They’d become friends. That warranted a celebration.

Draco slid into the stream of students flowing out of the Great Hall after lunch and sidled up behind Harry on the crowded staircase.

“Potter,” he hissed. Harry looked back over his shoulder, a grin sliding across his face as he took Draco in.

“Malfoy,” he replied tersely, playing his familiar part.

“Last detention tonight. You know what that means.”

“It means there’s no more after this one?” Harry ventured. Draco shook his head with a sarcastic huff.

“I’ve got a surprise for us later,” the blonde muttered cryptically. Harry’s green eyes narrowed, intrigued. He was about to ask what  _ that _ meant but Malfoy was suddenly gone, melting back into the crowd. The raven haired boy felt a sudden anticipation coiling in his belly, a smile blooming on his face.

-

Harry was already waiting outside the trophy room when Draco arrived for detention, his dark blazer a notable addition to his usual button up and trousers. 

“Back where it all started,” Harry said wistfully. They entered the room together, Harry plonking his bag on the ground as he took a seat on his side of the table.

“Can’t believe we’re done after tonight, and both alive to tell the tale,” Draco admitted with an almost fond look around the room. His eyes landed on Harry, who suddenly had a bashful look on his face.

“It hasn’t been so bad. I’m almost sad it’s over…”

“No crying on me, Potter. This is a happy occasion!” He pulled out his wand and spelled the door shut before producing a bottle from inside his jacket with a flourish. “We’re celebrating our accomplishment with firewhisky.”

“Cheers to substandard polishing!” Harry whooped. Draco snorted and took his seat.

“ _ Cheers _ to defying the odds,” Draco corrected. “To making amends.”

“To making amends,” Harry echoed softly. There were no glasses present- surprising for Malfoy, of all people- so the blonde opened the bottle and took a sip before passing it to Harry. They coughed as the burn of the drink sizzled down their throats.

“Where did you get this, by the way?” Harry asked, wondering if Malfoy had been holding out on him, hiding this in his trunk all term.

“Picked it up on the Hogsmeade trip for a rainy day. We never did end up getting that drink…”

Harry remembered their chance meeting in Honeydukes, how much he’d wanted to go to the pub with Malfoy that day. 

“That’s right. I had an appointment at the...sugary hellscape, you called it?”

“Saccharine was the word I used, I believe,” Malfoy supplied, taking another shot of the amber liquid with a wince. 

“That was it,” Harry chuckled, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck. He accepted the bottle from Malfoy and sighed. “Well, good news is I never have to go back there again. The Three Broomsticks awaits us whenever you want.”

“I’ll pencil you in on my calendar,” Draco retorted with a grin, putting his feet up on the table. It was abundantly clear that they were treating this last session in detention as a formality, with zero intention of completing their polishing. He might as well get comfortable.

They talked for a bit about Draco’s tutoring of the younger Potions students, which Harry was surprised to learn Draco was beginning to enjoy. His attention to detail and considerable knowledge of ingredients allowed him to help the students who were getting confused on the basics. Even Harry was guilty of chopping when a recipe called for mincing or stirring in the wrong direction if he wasn’t focused. He thought the younger students were lucky to have someone watching over them, steering him in the right direction before their work literally blew up in their faces.

Conversation drifted to the preparations for the upcoming Halloween ball. Draco proposed a novel theory: the largest pumpkin was destined to be fashioned into a monument to Harry himself. The Gryffindor laughed and gave the blonde a two fingered salute. Harry hoped there wouldn’t be any special mention of him at all. He was but one small if crucial part in a collective effort to defeat Voldemort; he didn’t feel he deserved any special acknowledgement beyond what had already been done since the battle. Besides, Halloween was a day when he preferred to think about the sacrifices his parents had made rather than his own.

Harry allowed his thoughts to drift back to the ball when Malfoy asked if he was bringing a date. 

“Oh, erm, no,” Harry replied sheepishly. “Until we broke up I was planning on going with Ginny, which was convenient. I’m really shy about asking people out, actually.”

“How precious,” Draco purred, but his smirk was a fond one. “There wasn’t anyone you wanted to ask?” He couldn’t help wheedling Harry, now that he had a little alcohol in his system to embolden him. The Gryffindor’s eyes darted around before landing on the bottle between them.

“So who are you taking, then?” Harry asked, sidestepping the question entirely.

“Myself. I’m keeping my options open,” the blonde replied. “And by the way, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Malfoyyyyy,” Harry groaned, covering his face as a laugh bubbled through his fingers.

“Oh fine! Here, we’ll start at the beginning. Who would you say was your first male crush?” Draco prompted, deciding to cut right to the heart of things.

“Crush? I haven’t had feelings for that many people,” Harry said, pondering.

“I didn’t ask who you’d been in love with, Potter,” Malfoy said haughtily. “You can be attracted to someone without having feelings for them. I’m asking whose bones you wanted to jump.”

“I’m a romantic!” Harry clapped his hand to his chest indignantly even as he fought a giggle that spilled out of him.

“Bullshit, you are! Come on. You’ve never wanted to hate fuck somebody?” Draco drawled, one pale brow arched in impish inquiry.

Harry felt himself blush and brought the bottle to his mouth again. Malfoy watched Harry’s Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed and the blonde smirked. Harry coughed and slid the bottle across to Malfoy . 

“Alright, that’s a fair point,” he laughed huskily. Malfoy was delighted by the sound. He liked buzzed Harry. He liked being buzzed  _ together _ . He tipped the bottle- the glass touching his lips having just touched Harry’s- and swallowed smoothly. 

“Go on, then. Who have  _ you  _ wanted to hate fuck? Was it Krum? Cedric?”

“What? Why would it be either?” Harry asked, more amused than alarmed. He realized that, in light of his recent discoveries about himself and his relationship to Malfoy, the blonde across the table was the one person who would have been most likely to earn his acrimonious affections. 

“They both competed against you for the tri-wizard cup, not to mention were favored over you to win it,” Draco said, as if it were obvious. “And Diggory was dating that Cho girl you were sniffing around. Krum is a troll but Cedric was quite fit.”

“He was,” Harry admitted absentmindedly. He thought back to the prefect’s bathroom and his golden egg, wondering what Cedric had looked like when he’d slipped beneath the soapy water. He didn’t realize what he’d said until Malfoy broke up laughing.

“So you had a thing for Ced, then? Dreamy prefect? Interesting,” he teased, but Harry noted the lack of malice in his tone.

“Piss off,” Harry pouted, chucking his polishing rag at Malfoy’s head. “It wasn’t even a thing. He was just older and mature...just forget it.”

Malfoy realized they were treading on dangerous ground. This was likely the first time Harry had talked about his attraction to another bloke openly. Who knew if he talked about sex stuff with Ron? He could see Harry becoming self conscious and knew he needed to level the playing field. 

“Alright, fine. I don’t know why I’m telling you this but I used to have a  _ small  _ attraction to Cormac McLaggen...at one point.” Draco’s lips twitched as he tried to fight off an embarrassed smile. “Only when he wasn’t running his mouth.”

At that, Harry burst out laughing.

“So you like arrogance, then?” Harry asked after he was finished laughing. Malfoy ran his hands through his hair and sat back, eyes twinkling with drink and mischief.

“It would seem so,” he replied smoothly, shrugging. 

_ How often had Snape called him arrogant?  _ Harry thought maybe that had something to do with the strange pull between them.

Draco leaned over and pressed the bottle into Harry’s hand, flicking his eyes up at the last second to catch Harry’s. The Gryffindor didn’t look away like he might have in the past. His mouth curled slowly into a grin before he lifted the bottle to his lips.

“Thankfully nothing ever came of that McLaggen business,” Malfoy said lightly. He watched and waited as Harry took a long swig and swallowed, his face crumpling as the hot liquid passed his tongue. They’d both had several drinks by now. Draco was feeling sufficiently loose and he knew Harry would be in a similar state. Now was as good a time as any to ask the question that had been swirling around in his head since their last detention. 

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you ever actually…”

Harry looked up, alarmed and uncertain. Malfoy motioned for him to have another drink and he miraculously obeyed.

“Have I ever what?” Harry asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he feigned ignorance of Malfoy’s question. 

It suddenly occurred to Malfoy that sitting like this, on opposite sides of the table, was strangely formal for two drinking buddies. This wasn’t an interview, after all. He stood up and dragged his chair around the table until it was next to Harry’s. That was better. He took his seat once more, realizing belatedly that their chairs were now quite close. Moving farther away again would be both rude and awkward, so he stayed put.

“I’m asking if you’ve ever...pursued one of your interests.” Malfoy tried to keep his voice level and the tone casual. He took the firewhisky from Harry's fingers and had another swallow. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Potter shake his head ‘no’. 

“Really?” Malfoy couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. The Gryffindor could likely have his pick of anyone he wanted. Aside from being a famous wizard, he really had grown into quite a handsome bloke, though he obviously didn't know it. He swiveled to face Harry fully, scrutinizing. The Gryffindor worried his lip between his teeth, his gaze darting nervously to Malfoy’s face and away again.

“Have you even kissed a boy?” Malfoy asked softly, watching in fascination as Harry’s lips turned a ruddy pink from the nibbling.

“No, not yet,” Harry replied, just as quietly.

“Then how do you know you’d like it?”

Harry didn’t know when he’d turned to face Malfoy. His eyes locked onto the silvery ones just a foot away. They were both leaning forward like co-conspirators.

“I dunno. I like it when I think about doing it,” Harry said, suddenly finding himself a little short of breath. He was noticing Malfoy’s pretty mouth, pursed in thought. He felt very warm.  _ Oh.  _ He was a bit drunk. 

He thought of Malfoy’s mouth, of what it would feel like against his own. It was a familiar and well worn thought, interrupted by the Slytherin’s now-moving lips. 

“That hardly counts. You’ve got to try the real thing,” the blonde said silkily. 

That seemed logical to Harry. He found himself leaning closer to the other boy, searching his eyes for any sign that he should stop. He saw none, only wide dark pupils against mercury, lids shutting slowly.

Then his mind went momentarily blank as their mouths pressed together. 

He’d done it! He’d kissed a boy. He’d kissed  _ Malfoy.  _ Or was Malfoy kissing him? It was difficult to tell and the wave of exaltation crashing over him made it hard to care about the particulars. 

Malfoy’s lips were tender and soft against Harry’s, so warm they burned. Harry was a little uncertain but Malfoy’s mouth provided a firm pressure, his movements natural. It was quite like kissing a girl in theory, only much better. As Malfoy leaned in and angled his head slightly to the right, Harry realized that he was becoming quite hard. Was that normal?  _ Well of course it is, _ he thought to himself. Malfoy starred prominently in his fantasies, after all. He’d wanted to do this for a long time. Now the blonde in question was darting his tongue out and tracing the subtle curve of Harry’s bottom lip and Harry was groaning…

Malfoy separated their mouths just enough to let out a raspy laugh. He liked hearing Harry make that sound. It was _dangerous_ how much he enjoyed it. He couldn’t quite believe how well this was working out, as if he’d planned it, which of course he hadn’t. Daydreamed about it, sure. He would never have imagined that he’d be so lucky.

Not wanting to take a good thing for granted, he captured Harry’s mouth again and curled his fingers around the back of his neck.

Harry heard himself moan softly, head tilting as he leaned into the kiss. His chair screeched across the stone floor as he scooted closer. His head swimming, he tentatively placed his hands on Malfoy’s waist and let them climb inward, across his stomach and up his chest.

Malfoy gave an encouraging grunt, his cock twitching. Harry tasted spicy from the firewhisky, his tongue forging a bolder path as it explored Malfoy’s. Draco thought seriously about pushing Harry back on the table but didn’t want to move too fast for him. He took an experimental nip at Harry’s bottom lip instead, earning a thrilling little moan. He felt euphoric just from the taste and feel of Harry's lips.

  
  


His other liaisons at school had been pleasurable if impersonal. Getting off with another bloke had rarely made him this giddy and he’d never done it with someone he’d had this much chemistry with- or history. He normally went out of his way to avoid social interactions with his conquests and here he was snogging Harry bloody Potter, nemesis-turned-friend and detention partner and probably the single most conspicuous person he could've chosen. It was absolutely ludicrous and some distant part of his brain warned that he ought to stop now, get ahold of himself, conduct himself properly. But his thundering pulse and roaming hands didn’t want to listen, especially now that Harry’s mouth was venturing along the tender skin below his jaw.

“I’m not supposed to want this,” Malfoy bit out as he tried to suppress a rising moan. 

“You could pretend you hate me,” Harry mumbled into the other boy’s pale neck between nibbles. “You’re quite good at that…”

“Potter,” Draco snarled, mustering all the venom he could. That one word carried such a simmering intensity that the Gryffindor shuddered. It was obscene to Harry how easily and obviously that tone could get his blood pumping. It used to ignite his rage but now it prompted a lustful tug in the pit of his stomach.

Malfoy felt his own pulse of satisfaction at the feeling of Harry’s body pressing enthusiastically against him. They stood together when Malfoy pushed Harry's hoodie off his shoulders so that he could let it drop to the floor. Malfoy whipped off his own jacket, Harry's hands immediately taking the garment's place on his back.

“Get your hands off me, Potter,” the Slytherin warned, his voice icy and biting even as he backed Harry against the table. 

“Or what?” Harry taunted. He snaked his tongue up the crest of Malfoy’s ear before trapping the lobe between his teeth. He heard the blonde’s breath catch and felt his hands grip his waist tightly. He sucked firmly on the lobe of his ear and was gratified to hear a soft, needy whimper.

“See? You’re not so tough after all, _Malfoy_ ,” Harry rasped as he broke for air.

Even in the throes of passion Malfoy was still prideful. He grabbed the other boy by the arms and pushed him onto the table where he landed on his back with a thud. Malfoy climbed over him without a pause, bracing his left arm beside Harry’s head for support. With his right he pinned Harry’s hips in place as his own drove down and pressed their cocks together. Harry’s mouth fell open and a cry of mingled surprise and ecstasy spilled out. He’d barely registered what Malfoy was doing before the sensation ripped through him.

“M-Merlin,” he choked out as Draco’s hips ground against his in a confident, rocking motion. He knew what he was doing and within a moment had Harry grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. Their eyes met briefly and Harry felt his stomach go all twisty when Malfoy smirked down at him, pupils blown wide with lust and drink. It was almost as if he’d known that Harry had dreamed of this. As if, maybe, he had too.

“Do you like this?” the blonde asked, a little breathless. He dropped his head and mouthed Harry’s jaw messily as he felt his body beginning to stiffen.

“Yes.  _ God yes _ ,” Harry grunted as he rutted up against Malfoy. Their gyrations were harried and uncoordinated but they were proving effective. Harry screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to ward off his rapidly approaching orgasm, to keep this going a little longer. Malfoy’s hand slid down his hip and forced its way under him. When Harry felt those long fingers knead the flesh of his arse he let out another moan. “Fuck, Malfoy, I’m gonna…”

“Gonna what, Potter?” he demanded, squeezing Harry’s arse again and somehow pressing their bodies tighter together. Harry’s hands scrabbled for purchase over his back and hips, finding suddenly that Malfoy’s pert arse fitted perfectly into his palms.

“Gonna come,” Harry confessed through gritted teeth. It was nearly a sob. The friction was too good, the thought that his cock and Malfoy’s were separated by only a few layers of material far too arousing. That he could breathe Malfoy in for real this time was dizzyingly erotic.

“Oh fuck. Do it.” Malfoy’s voice was rough in his ear, sexy and hoarse with arousal. “Do it for me, Potter.”

Harry was used to hearing his first name in breathy whispers or occasionally even a muffled squeal of pleasure. Hearing his last name, a moniker practically reserved for Malfoy’s use alone, delivered in that familiar acerbic tone proved too much. Harry grit his teeth and roared through the orgasm as it hit him, shuddering fantastically beneath Malfoy who continued to drive against him.

“Fuck, Malfoy, oh my god,” he growled. He used his hands on Malfoy’s bum to keep the friction and pressure on as his body stiffened and he felt his pants coated with hot, sticky come.

“Oh, fuck,” Malfoy gasped, seemingly surprised as his own body went taut above Harry. He fell forward, their foreheads pressed together and lips colliding as the Slytherin moaned through his own climax. Harry felt the back of his neck being gripped vice-like, the entirety of his body held in place by Malfoy’s as he thrust erratically and then stilled.

The world seemed to stand still on its axis for a long moment, only the blood rushing in their ears and the ragged breaths passing between them indicating that time had not stopped altogether. Malfoy broke the thick silence by laughing softly against Harry’s mouth and rolling gingerly onto his back, the two of them shoulder to shoulder on the table. Harry let his head fall to the side, the better to observe Malfoy. At the sight of Malfoy’s loose grin and disheveled appearance- likely matching his own- Harry let out an answering laugh.

They lay there for several minutes, coasting on the endorphins as their skin cooled and their breathing slowed. Eventually Draco reached over Harry and retrieved his wand before spelling them both clean. Harry wondered what it would be like to lean up to kiss him again but feared that such an overture would be unwelcome, that the moment had passed. He thanked Malfoy for returning his pants to their unsullied state and followed his lead of sitting up.

When they got to their feet, Malfoy quickly smoothed his hair back into place before meeting Harry’s eyes. He could practically see Harry’s mounting nervousness amassing around him like an aura and he couldn’t help grinning.

“You alright there, Potter?” he asked, taking a step closer. Harry swallowed heavily and nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said, nodding emphatically. “Yeah, definitely. Are you..”

“Smashing, all things considered,” Malfoy replied, pleased to see Harry’s resultant smile. “I’d rather not spoil the mood by interacting with Filch tonight. Amongst our other infractions, drinking probably ranks highly enough to earn us even more detentions. We’d better go.”

Harry’s face lit up at the recollection of his cloak and he turned to retrieve it from his bag, limbs post-orgasmic heavy and slightly uncoordinated from the firewhisky. When he pulled it out, Malfoy’s expression flashed from confusion to comprehension.

“You still have that?” 

“Of course,” Harry replied over his shoulder as he ducked into the hall, checking that the coast was clear of Filch or other professors who might object to finding two inebriated students wandering the castle. “I thought we might end up needing it. C’mere.”

Draco pulled on his jacket and drifted over, giggling as Harry flung the cloak over them both. They began an uncoordinated shuffle out into the hall, walking close enough to jostle each other as they made their way back toward their common room.

“These are really rare, Potter. How’d you manage to get your hands on something so desirable?” Malfoy wondered aloud. 

“Inherited it,” Harry muttered as they shuffled past the Great Hall. He could probably sneak through the school blindfolded on his own; navigating it with another person in tow was another matter entirely. Still, it was sort of exciting to share this with Malfoy. “Dumbledore gave it to me first year. It was my dad’s.”

“Of course. That barmy old git always did turn a blind eye on your mischief. Why  _ not  _ give a child an invisibility cloak?” Harry elbowed him lightly in the ribs and the blonde muffled a pained grunt. “That explains a few things. How often do you use this?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” Harry replied, flashing a giddy smile. He grabbed Malfoy’s hand and pulled him close, surprising the Slytherin. The stairs would be tricky for them if they weren’t careful. “Follow me very closely or someone will see your feet.”

“You’ve really got this thing figured out, haven’t you? Do you usually travel with company?”

“Not always. I’ve done three at once a couple times, which was always tremendously complicated,” Harry said. Malfoy’s resultant laugh was throaty and close, ghosting Harry’s ear and making him shudder pleasantly.

“Three at once? You’re more experienced than you let on, Potter,” Malfoy teased. A saucy retort fizzled on Harry’s tongue as a sound down the corridor caught his attention.

Harry shuffled them off to the side, crowding Malfoy against the wall. A duo of Ravenclaw prefects strolled by, blessedly oblivious to the presence of the two boys sandwiched together beneath the cloak as they did their rounds. They practically held their breaths as the prefects passed, eyes locked and mouths trembling with the effort not to laugh.

The absurdity of their position was not lost on Draco. As he stood squished between the other boy and the wall, he felt the potent mixture of alcohol and elation singing through his veins. He wasn’t overthinking everything that had just happened, picking it apart like he might have in the past. He was just  _ happy _ . When those green eyes turned on him, glittering with excitement, a buoyant warmth expanded in his chest. He was half-drunk and hiding beneath an invisibility cloak with his rival-turned-friend, whom he’d just shared a most explosive orgasm with. It was an  _ insane  _ and almost certainly unwise turn of events but for once Draco couldn’t be bothered to worry. As the Ravenclaw prefects disappeared around the corner, Harry gave him a brilliant grin and Draco smiled back.

They both suddenly became aware of their proximity, plastered together as they were. They could breathe freely now that the prefects were gone but neither of them made a move to separate, their lips parted and cheeks flushed. Harry realized that he was experiencing something for the first time and his heart stuttered in his chest. This buzzing, delirious, skin-tingling exhilaration of being close to Malfoy was what a crush felt like, wasn’t it?  _ This _ was the missing ingredient in his failed relationships. As his eyes traveled the perfect peaks of Malfoy’s cupid’s bow, he realized that he’d never had the urge to devour someone before now. 

But it was probably a horrendously bad idea to snog the Slytherin directly outside of their common room, wasn’t it?

“You’re very pretty,” he said instead, without thinking. A crease appeared between Malfoy’s brows and he appeared to be deciding what to do with the comment. Harry was relieved to hear him laugh softly after just a moment of contemplation.

“Thanks, Potter,” he purred. He brought a hand up to Harry’s neck, stroking his thumb ever so gently over the Gryffindor’s lower lip. He let out a shuddering breath, anticipating Malfoy’s mouth on his again, but Malfoy only smiled at him, eyes soft and warm. “I think we’d better get you inside. You’re drunk.”

Harry didn’t protest. He let Malfoy delicately lift the cloak off of them, watching as he folded it gently and deposited it back in Harry’s bag. The Slytherin slid one arm over his shoulders and guided him toward the entrance to the common room and inside. Harry could get up to their room just fine but he liked the feeling of the other boy’s body touching his. He  _ did _ feel intoxicated but he knew that he was just as drunk on Malfoy as he was firewhisky. It was a taste he wanted more of.


End file.
